


Multidisciplinary Studies

by DevilDoll



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Bullying, Libraries, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilDoll/pseuds/DevilDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a slightly-older-and-very-sexy librarian and Derek has a thirst for knowledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. June

**Author's Note:**

> I've always sort of mulled around about an alternate universe where teenaged Derek meets Stiles first instead of Kate Argent, and things go a lot better for him, and that turned into Tumblr natterings which turned into chapters of what is shaping up to be an actual story. 
> 
> I've talked to several patiently helpful librarians about this story, and any mistakes you find here are purely my own, or choices I've purposely made for the sake of the plot. I ask your forgiveness.

**_June_ **

**_If 0 < a < b < c < d < e in the equation above, then the greatest increase in S would result from adding 1 to the value of which variable?_ **

"You must be a Hale," the new librarian said after giving Derek a squinty once-over. He was wearing glasses, so it was doubtful he actually needed to squint to see.

"Yes, sir," Derek said, shifting his backpack from one shoulder to the other, using his manners even though the guy looked like he was about Derek's age; this was probably a summer job for him. Derek hoped he wasn't going to give him crap about studying during the break. The PSAT was coming up fast, and Derek had a few weak spots he wanted to work on over the summer.

"Ugh. Don't call me sir. My dad is a sir. I'm Stiles," the librarian said, and held out his hand for Derek to shake. Derek's hand was probably hot and sweaty, but Stiles didn't appear to notice. He didn't even wipe his own hand on his pants after they shook. "So which one are you?"

"Derek." The quiet one, according to his father. The sensitive one, according to his mother. The biggest dork on the planet, according to Laura.

"I went to school with Kurt," Stiles said, smiling. So he was older than Derek thought. There was a five year gap between Kurt, the oldest, and Derek, with Laura in between. "We were on the lacrosse team together."

Derek smiled back and nodded and tried not to look disappointed, because his older brother's numerous athletic exploits were a tedious and inescapable topic in this town. Before Stiles could really get started on Kurt's illustrious high school sports career, the phone on the desk rang, and while Stiles was dealing with that Derek escaped to his usual table way in the back by the window and got out his computer and his study guides.

It would have been nice if a friendly, good-looking guy wanted to talk to Derek because he was Derek, for once, instead of Kurt's younger brother. That didn't happen a lot, though. Derek wondered when he'd get used to the disappointment, if ever.

~*~

"Hey, Derek," Stiles said, waving, the next time Derek walked in, which shouldn't have made him as happy as it did, that Stiles remembered him, but it did.

Instead of heading to his usual table, Derek snagged a chair near the periodicals, which gave him an unobstructed view of the desk, and thus an unobstructed view of Stiles. From this vantage point he could sneak looks at Stiles while he studied, and he used them as a reward system. Every time he completed another page in the study guide, he got to peek at Stiles before he moved on to the next one. Derek liked the way Stiles' arms looked when he stretched them above his head, and the way his hair stuck up like he just got out of bed, and the way he chewed on his lower lip when he typed on the computer.

"PSAT, huh?" Stiles said a little later, as he wandered by with a small stack of books cradled in his arms. He jerked his chin at the books strewn across Derek's table, and it made his glasses slide down a little. 

"Yeah," Derek said, and braced for some kind of teasing remark, but Stiles just nodded and said, "Don't forget your calculator. I had to do all the math by hand and it _sucked_."

"You forgot your calculator?" Derek asked, incredulous. He'd already typed up a list of everything he needed to bring to the test, and hung it on the bulletin board above his desk at home. 

"And my pencil. Had to borrow one from the girl next to me," Stiles said, grinning. 

Derek couldn't bring himself to grin back. Just the thought of that happening—on test day!—was making him nauseous. It was the stuff of nightmares. Derek's _literal nightmares_ ; he'd had dreams just like that more than once.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Stiles reassured him, perhaps noticing Derek's distress.

"I hope so," Derek said, and because they were alone in the library he let his eyes follow Stiles as he walked away, taking in the way his hair curled behind his ears, and the flash of skin where his shirt had ridden up on the right side. 

Looking at Stiles made Derek feel overly warm and a little fidgety, and he'd had enough crushes so far in his young life to know what that meant. But he'd never felt quite this warm and fidgety before.

~*~

The pictures that inspired this (found on Tumblr):


	2. July

**_July_ **

**_A discerning publishing agent can _____ promising material from a mass of submissions, separating the good from the bad._ **

****_(A) supplant_  
(B) dramatize  
(C) finagle  
(D) winnow  
(E) overhaul 

Stiles was the noisiest librarian Derek had ever seen. He hummed and whistled and tapped his pen, and talked to himself constantly, and often forgot to silence the ringer on his cellphone. He muttered out loud when he reshelved books, commenting on the condition of the bindings, the quality of the writing, and the taste of the patrons who had checked them out. It wasn't unusual, on the rare occasion there were other people in the library, to hear a lot of shushing going on, but it was usually the patrons scolding the librarian instead of the other way around.

Derek knew all of this because he was spending a lot of time at the library, encouraged by the warm reception he got every time he showed up. And, if Derek was being honest, he was lonely. Rebecca, his best friend since grade school, had moved to Portland in April, after her parents took over her grandmother's feminist book store and pottery studio. This was their first summer without each other since they were little kids, and it kind of sucked. 

It seemed a stroke of luck that Stiles was actually a little bored sometimes, because there wasn't much work for him to do, and he obviously welcomed Derek's company. As the weeks went on, Derek spent more and more time talking to Stiles, and he often had to stretch his two hour block of studying to four hours just to get the actual two hours of work in, but it was worth it. He liked talking to Stiles, and they almost never talked about Kurt.

Derek wasn't very talkative by nature, and having to keep so many things about himself and his family secret didn't exactly make friendly conversation a breeze. But most of the questions Stiles asked were general enough that Derek could answer, like what classes he was taking in the fall and which franchise he liked better, Star Wars or Star Trek. They argued over who was the best Robin, and whether or not Pluto was a planet, and through it all Derek secretly hoarded a thousand bits of information about Stiles, from what kind of cheese he liked to the way his eyes crinkled upward when he laughed.

Stiles was going to UCLA, planning on an MLIS, though he wasn't sure if he wanted to focus on archiving or rare books. Derek was most likely going to do something computer-related, but hadn't yet decided exactly what. He'd originally wanted to be a vet, had wanted to be a vet ever since he was a kid bringing home every baby bird he found on the ground. But he'd eventually had to accept the fact that a career as a veterinarian was pretty impossible for a werewolf, unless he was going to somehow never treat a cat or a bunny. Since he'd hit puberty and come into his full werewolf form, a lot of animals were instinctively terrified of him. 

Stiles actually had a friend named Scott who worked for a local vet during school breaks, and he sometimes stopped by the library to visit. Derek had worried at first he might be Stiles' boyfriend, because they seemed really close, and they hugged a lot, but through careful eavesdropping he figured out that Scott had a girlfriend. He also figured out, through more careful eavesdropping, that Stiles had at least one ex-boyfriend, but no current boyfriend.

It wasn't like it changed anything, but it was nice to know.

~*~

"Okay, see, when you're talking about the _can_ of lima beans, the subject is the can, so you want the singular verb," Stiles said, leaning over Derek and tapping his finger against the page. He'd taken to checking in on Derek's progress now and then, and Derek was grateful for the help; he excelled at critical reading, but his technical grammar skills and subject-verb agreement were shaky. In the math portion he had geometry nailed, but his algebra needed work. He was tailoring his summer study program to shore up his weaknesses, and it seemed to be making a difference. "The can of lima beans _is_ on the shelf," Stiles stressed. 

"Right, got it," Derek said, and jotted a note in the margin and hoped Stiles didn't see that his hand was shaking a little. Being this close to Stiles was a little overwhelming. Derek could feel his body heat across his shoulder, and smell the slightly sweet dust on his hands from the books.

"But in this other sentence it says _some_ of the lima beans," Stiles went on, pointing to a different example, and this time he leaned so far down his face was practically right next to Derek's. Derek could have turned his head just the littlest bit and kissed him, if he were capable of doing something so outrageous. But he didn't kiss him, and Stiles continued on, oblivious: "That's an indefinite pronoun, and lima beans are countable, so you use the plural verb." 

Derek jotted another note, feeling like his face was on fire just from thinking about kissing Stiles, and he was so, so grateful Stiles was just an ordinary human. Derek's pulse was probably audible to any werewolf in a ten mile radius; he hoped there weren't any. 

When Stiles finally straightened back up, he put his hand on Derek's shoulder and gave him a brief, friendly squeeze. "You're gonna do great on the test," Stiles reassured him, which was what he always said when he thought Derek was struggling or getting frustrated. It was nice, actually. 

"Thanks," Derek said, and bent back to his book as Stiles disappeared into the stacks, the smell of Stiles' hands and the books he loved clinging to Derek's shirt. Stiles had never touched him like that before. It probably didn't mean anything, but that didn't stop Derek from hoping maybe it did.

~*~

 ** _There's a new librarian_** , Derek texted to Rebecca the next day. **_A guy._**

 ** _He cute?_** was her response.

 ** _I dunno. I guess. He's old_** , Derek said, and then felt a little mean. **_Kurt's age_** , he added, just so she wouldn't think Stiles was some paunchy, gray-haired old man.

 ** _He must be cute if you're mentioning him_** , Rebecca sent back. 

Sometimes it was irritating how well she knew him.

~*~

Once he'd put in his two scheduled hours of studying, Derek was free to go home, but there wasn't really much to do at home, honestly. And Stiles was working, because Derek didn't even bother going to the library when he wasn't; Derek had rearranged his entire study schedule spreadsheet once he'd figured out Stiles' schedule. And today Stiles was wearing Derek's favorite sweater, one that looked about two sizes too small, hugged his surprisingly round biceps and stretched tight over his square shoulders.

Derek decided to do some recreational reading instead, so he got out his laptop and used the library's wifi to click around on Wikipedia until he found a page that sounded interesting. You never knew what info might come in handy on a standardized test anyway. 

"Hey, we're closing up," Stiles said, probably hours later, pulling Derek out of the Wikipedia vortex; he'd ended up on the lamprey page. 

"Already?" Derek asked, surprised, before he remembered it was Friday. The library closed early on Fridays. When he looked at the time on his laptop screen, it was a few minutes past five, so the library was technically closed already. And Stiles was holding his keys in his hand, which meant he was waiting for Derek to pack up and leave so he could go home.

"Sorry, sorry," Derek said, shoving his things into his backpack, but Stiles just leaned patiently against the table until Derek got all zipped up and pushed his chair back in.

They walked out together, Stiles pausing to arm the alarm system and lock the door, and it wasn't until he stepped outside that Derek noticed it was raining. Crap.

He was hunched over, unlocking his bike, when Stiles walked over and said, "You rode your bike here?" He said it with a tinge of disbelief, so he probably knew Derek's house was all the way out on the edge of town, near the nature preserve.

"Yeah," Derek said. He and Laura had to share the Volvo, which meant he didn't get to use it much.

"Let me give you a ride," Stiles said, looking up at the sky, and the black clouds off in the distance but closing fast. "You're gonna get hit by lightning or something."

"My bike…" Derek said, torn. If he left it here he'd have to walk back and get it tomorrow, or get someone to drive him, and he had a clarinet lesson in the morning.

"I've got room for your bike," Stiles said, and he did. He had a Jeep, which was a lot cooler than a Volvo. They loaded Derek's bike in the back and Stiles headed for Derek's house without any instruction. 

The rain started to pound down before they got even a few blocks from the library, and Derek was grateful for the ride, and not just because it gave him a chance to be alone with Stiles. It would have been a miserable ride home, and his backpack wasn't waterproof, and his laptop and all his study guides were in it.

It was weird at first, being in Stiles' car, sitting next to him, together in a place they usually weren't, but Stiles didn't seem fazed by it and Derek managed to relax after a bit. He sat there with his backpack on his lap and tried not to stare over Stiles too much. In this little enclosed space, Stiles smelled like coffee and cinnamon gum, and he talked the whole time—no surprise there—which left Derek free to just enjoy watching him drive, glance over at the way his fingers gripped the stick shift, and the flex of his thigh when he worked the clutch.

At the house, Stiles got out and helped Derek unload his bike, getting rained on in the process. There were water droplets all over the lenses of his glasses when he got the back of the Jeep closed up again.

"Thanks," Derek said, feeling like he was lingering awkwardly. It wasn't like he expected a kiss on the porch, but should he invite Stiles in or...

"Anytime," Stiles said, and hopped back into the Jeep, which solved that problem. Derek wondered if he meant it, though. Anytime?

"Who dropped you off?" his father asked, when Derek walked into the house, shaking rainwater out of his hair. His dad was at the kitchen table, gluing the Easy Bake oven back together. Werewolf kids were hard on toys; Derek's dad bought tubes of Super Glue by the gross.

"A guy Kurt went to school with," Derek said, hoping an existing family connection would deflect any suspicion away from Derek's interest in him. "He works at the library." 

"Tell Laura she's supposed to be sharing the car," his dad said, carefully slotting two pieces of plastic together.

~*~

"You smell like...hmmm. Stilinski," Kurt said a little while later, when he sat down next to Derek at dinner. He gave Derek a look of blatant curiosity.

"He gave me a ride home," Derek answered, concentrating on his tuna casserole. His heart wanted to beat faster just thinking about Stiles, and then thinking about his brother possibly figuring out _what_ he was thinking about Stiles, but Derek forced himself to breathe slowly and stay calm. "He's working at the library this summer."

"Which reminds me, you're supposed to be sharing the Volvo with Derek," their dad said, giving Laura a pointed look, and Laura got indignant because she always thought her reasons for needing the car were more pressing than Derek's, and everyone at the table promptly forgot about Stiles, except Derek.

~*~

  
michellicopter drew this adorable picture of Derek and Stiles at the library! 

[Image Description: Stiles leans over Derek at the library table.]

[See it full size on Tumblr here!](http://michellicopter.tumblr.com/post/40595594813/inspired-by-this-post-because-bby-derek-and-older)


	3. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Denise for answering library questions, Raster for answering computer nerd questions, and agentotter for catching typos and cheerleading. <3 <3

**_August_ **

**_A 19-liter mixture consists by volume of 1 part juice to 18 parts water. If x liters of juice and y liters of water are added to this mixture to make a 54-liter mixture consisting by volume of 1 part juice to 2 parts water, what is the value of x?_ **

~*~

The notification from Facebook was a surprise. Derek almost never went on there, usually forgot he was even signed up for months at a time, but he remembered in a hurry when the little message popped up on his phone:

**_Stiles Stilinski wants to be friends on Facebook._ **

Of course Derek accepted it, right away, and then immediately checked out Stiles' page. He had a lot of Facebook friends, over six hundred to Derek's measly fifty-three. His relationship status was listed as single, which made Derek do a little fist-pump even though he'd been mostly sure that was the case. 

Facebook was a treasure trove of information, and Derek threw himself headlong into going over every detail. Most of Stiles' updates were, frankly, pointless and not very exciting, or just song lyrics, but Derek read them all anyway. He skipped all the way back to when Stiles first created his account, and then methodically read forward so the updates would be in chronological order, even though he could practically hear Laura laughing at his anal-retentive tendencies. 

He managed to scroll pretty quickly through several years, because Stiles sometimes went weeks without posting anything, and when he did it was usually just a short commentary on whatever he was doing at the time ( ** _FINALS. UGH._** ) or who he was hanging out with, sometimes accompanied by a cellphone picture or two. Even though most of it was unexciting or indecipherable to Derek, he devoured every last bit of information.

For a while Stiles had dated someone named Shannon, an athletic-looking blond guy who appeared to be intoxicated in every picture Derek found of him. They interacted a little bit on Facebook, and every exchange made Derek's stomach squirm just to read it, but he couldn't help himself, he looked at all of them anyway. It had apparently gotten serious enough that Stiles had changed his relationship status, and then not quite a year later changed it back to single, with no indication what had happened. Shannon completely disappeared from Stiles' Facebook page after that.

When Derek finally caught up to the current year—to this summer, specifically--there were suddenly lots of updates. Pictures of Stiles and Scott, and of Stiles and his dad, and of Stiles' Jeep parked at a taco stand, whatever that meant. Then, a few weeks ago, there was one update that said, **_at work. bored._**

Scott had commented: **_your favorite patron there today?_**

Stiles had responded: **_nope. he doesn't come in on thurs :(_**

And Derek knew-- he _knew_ \--that they were talking about him. He was Stiles' _favorite patron_ , he realized, grinning at the screen. And Stiles had talked about him with Scott, and Stiles knew what days of the week Derek always came in (Monday, Wednesday, and Friday) and he was bored without Derek there, and bummed enough over it to use a frowny face.

Feeling giddy, Derek quickly clicked through all the photo albums, too. There were several hundred pics, going back to high school--when Stiles had sported a buzzcut that miraculously did not detract from his attractiveness at all--and also some pictures of Stiles as a kid that had evidently been added by an aunt in Arizona.

There was one amazing photo, black and white, of Stiles leaning against a wall, looking out over the water--maybe the ocean?--with the wind ruffling his hair. It looked like he didn't even know his picture was being taken. His face was still and unguarded, so open and beautiful, that it made Derek's heart feel funny when he looked at it. He copied that one and saved it to his phone.

~*~

 ** _His dad's the sheriff_** , Derek told Rebecca, after his exhaustive dissection of Stiles' Facebook page. He'd given up pretending he wasn't obsessing over him.

 ** _The librarian is Stiles Stilinski?_** Rebecca texted him. Before he could reply, another message came through. **_Kendra's cousin went to the winter formal with him and ended up in the ER!_**

 ** _HOLY CRAP WHY?_** Derek texted back, immediate visions of Stiles as an out of control domestic abuser or unrepentant drunk driver flooding his mind. And Derek had ridden in Stiles' car with him! Alone!

 ** _Anaphylaxis_** , she texted back, to Derek's instantaneous relief. **_She didn't know there was strawberry sherbert in the punch._**

**_Wow_** , Derek replied, which seemed an inadequate response, but what did you say to that? 

**_Kendra said he sat by her bed for hours until she woke up_** , Rebecca said, and Derek would never, ever admit it, but it was one of the most romantic things he'd ever heard.

~*~

At the beginning of August, Derek went to computer camp, as he had every summer since he was nine. Derek's dad drove him and Isaac--Derek's second-closest friend after Rebecca--down to Stanford on a breezy Sunday morning, only grimacing a little at Derek's music selections.

Derek and Isaac had gone to the same camp together the last six years, though every year Isaac's dad threatened to not let him go. This year he'd made Isaac pay half the tuition, which was not an inconsiderable sum of money. Isaac had had to work two jobs to swing it; Derek had barely seen him at all since school let out.

When he dropped them off, Derek's dad slipped Derek a small folded stack of bills, spending money for the duration, and then did the same for Isaac, who looked flustered, and like he was going to hand it back, so Dad said, "You guys have fun!" and drove off before that could happen.

Isaac had a funny, pinched look on his face, like he might cry, so Derek said, "Hey, let's go see who else is here!" It came out a little too cheerily, but it worked.

One of the first people they saw was Erica, who was another regular for several years running. Erica and Derek had had a camp romance last summer, culminating in a few pretty memorable minutes alone together in one of the computer labs, but the spark seemed to be gone this year, and they were back to being just friends again. 

By the third day it was pretty obvious there was something brewing between her and Vernon, who had grown about six inches since last year and started lifting weights. It could have been awkward, but it thankfully wasn't. Maybe Derek didn't want to kiss her anymore, but he truly liked Erica, even though she preferred Ruby over Python--he figured a friendship that could withstand a fundamental disagreement over programming languages was pretty solid. And Derek and Vernon had always gotten along well enough--they'd even built an eggbot printer together last summer as their independent research project.

So the four of them hung out together a lot, except when Erica and Vernon wanted to be alone, and then Derek and Isaac found somewhere else to be. Which was fine with Derek--seeing them together, holding hands and sneaking kisses, just made him miss Stiles, and he wasn't even going to kid himself about what that meant.

Camp was normally something Derek looked forward to, a chance to learn new things and hang out with a lot of people who were interested in the same stuff he was, but this year it also meant two agonizing weeks of being away from Stiles. He tried not to spend too much time on Stiles' Facebook page, but as a senior camper he had a lot more freedom and spare time than the younger kids, and he used a good deal of it to think about Stiles.

And build a robotic T. rex that shot flames out of its mouth.

So all in all, a pretty productive two weeks.

~*~

Derek's dad picked them up again on the last day of camp, and even though neither Derek nor Isaac were prone to being chatty, they managed to talk Dad's ear off for the first part of the drive, and then through a dinner stop in Santa Rosa. After that, Derek's father filled them in on everything they'd missed in Beacon Hills, which included a visit from the Weinermobile.

But as they got closer to home, Derek watched Isaac get smaller and quieter in the corner of the back seat, staring out the window and chewing on his lip. Derek couldn't really blame him. Not only did Isaac have to go back to both his jobs tomorrow, which left almost no time for any fun stuff, but Isaac's dad was kind of a dick, and his mother and older brother were both dead, so that was all the family he had. Stiles' mother was dead, too, Derek knew, and he didn't even like to think about how awful it would be to lose his mother, or one of his siblings. He would be devastated.

Isaac's house was dark and quiet, and Derek and his dad crept up the front walk with him and waited while he unlocked the door and got his stuff inside. Isaac's dad was in the house—sleeping, Derek could tell--and didn't even come out to welcome him home. Derek was mostly relieved that he didn't have to talk to him, but felt a little guilty about it, because it must be pretty crappy to have your only relative not care that you were finally home after two weeks away. 

Before they left, Derek's dad pulled Isaac into a firm hug, one hand cradling the back of his head, and Isaac curled into him like a little kid for a few seconds. Isaac probably didn't get many hugs at all, if any. Dad hugged him until Isaac pulled away first, sniffling a little when he turned toward Derek.

"I'll see you," Isaac whispered, quiet so he wouldn't wake his dad, and Derek nodded, even though they both knew they probably wouldn't see each other much at all until school started again. Then Derek hugged him, too, a little more awkwardly than Dad had, but he couldn't be blamed for that; he didn't know how to give dad hugs.

It was late when Derek and his father finally got home, but his mom was waiting for them, and Laura came down to mess up Derek's hair and ask him how nerd college was, and Derek was so glad to be home. So glad.

~*~

The little kids had already been in bed when Derek got in, which meant the twins, who had always been more attached to Derek than any of their other siblings, treated waking up with him in the house again like a kind of mini Christmas morning.

Derek, though very disciplined and focused, was still a teenager, and he did not enjoy getting up early. But the twins were ecstatic he was home, and they burst into his room at what felt like the crack of dawn and threw themselves on top of him, shrieking with delight when he growled his most menacing growl. Laura could make them quail with the tiniest sound, but Derek, even at his most fearsome, was pure entertainment for them. 

Undeterred, they drummed their tiny fists on his back and legs, and grabbed at the pillow covering his head. Derek, feeling surly, fantasized about removing them bodily, depositing them out in the hallway, and locking the door, but then he thought of Isaac, coming home to a dark house where no one cared he was back, and rolled over to face the twins' excitement instead.

"How was 'puter camp?" Violet shouted in his face. She had no indoor voice whatsoever. "We missed you!"

Henry was squirming his way under the covers, his knees steadily digging two holes in Derek's side. "Mom made us practice the piano even though you weren't here," he said, sounding muffled and indignant. Derek could feel Henry's hot breath on his arm, and hoped that was all he'd feel. Henry was the family biter.

"You smell like Skittles," Violet said suspiciously, lifting her nose in the air. She had the same thick, dark hair as all of the rest of them, and it was already starting to fall out of her Hello Kitty barrettes.

"Skittles?" Henry chimed in hopefully, popping his head out from under the covers.

Derek did, in fact, have Skittles, the remains of a bag he'd picked up the night before when they'd stopped for gas.

"You can have some, but don't tell Mom," he told them, worming his way out from under them to grab his backpack.

The bag had just enough left in it to give each of them a fistful, which Henry promptly crammed into his mouth all at once. Violet spread hers out on Derek's bedspread and began sorting them by color, and then squished each one flat between her thumb and forefinger before putting it in her mouth. While she was distracted, Derek managed to redo her barrettes, knowing it probably wouldn't last.

"Breakfast is in ten minutes and everyone better be dressed!" Derek's mom yelled from downstairs. They only got to eat breakfast in their pajamas on weekends, even in the summer.

Derek threw on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, and then hustled the twins, already vibrating from the sugar high, into their room so he could wrangle them into their clothes. 

"Can I get a piggyback ride?" Henry asked, as he squirmed around in a way that he probably thought was helping Derek get his arms into his shirt but was in fact having the complete opposite effect. "Kurt doesn't do it right."

"Only if you stand still and let me get this on," Derek said, and then laughed when Henry immediately went rigid, holding his arms out stiffly like a statue, not even blinking his eyes. "That's much better," he said, tugging Henry's shirt down over his round little belly. "Thank you."

Meanwhile, Violet had stripped off her own shirt, claiming it was "itchy," and then Derek had to enter into a prolonged negotiation process with her when they realized the shirt she actually wanted to wear was in the dirty clothes hamper. The end result was that Violet grudgingly let Derek put her second favorite shirt on her, and it was more like fifteen minutes before they all clattered down the stairs--Derek carrying Henry on his back, as promised--but Audrey was having some kind of meltdown over her pet gecko that was keeping everyone distracted, so no one noticed. 

"Derek gave us Skittles!" Violet announced, racing ahead into the kitchen, and Derek yelled, "Thanks a lot, Vi!" as Henry sank his teeth into Derek's ear.

~*~

Stiles' Jeep wasn't in its usual spot when Derek pedaled up to the library, which was odd but not unheard of. Derek knew he'd gotten rides from his dad or Scott a few times, when the Jeep was in the shop or something. But when he walked into the library, Derek's worst fears were confirmed: Stiles was not at the front desk. Instead, Derek was greeted by Madeline, the matronly librarian who had once threatened to call his parents when she caught him furtively reading _The Joy of Sex_. Seeing her always made him feel slightly embarrassed, years later.

"Um, is Stiles here?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. He couldn't hear him, and it was impossible for Derek to not hear Stiles when they were in the same building together. More worryingly, there was barely any new Stiles smell in the library at all, like he hadn't been there recently. Maybe Stiles had quit his job while Derek was at camp. 

"He's not here today," Madeline said, and though Derek couldn't bring himself to ask if he was coming back, she'd said _today_ which implied he'd be back _another day_. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"No, thank you, ma'am," Derek said, and went and sat at his old table in the back, the one that had been his usual spot before Stiles. 

The first thing he did was check Stiles' Facebook page, but the last update, from the day before, was apparently some kind of inside joke a few people seemed to get, because they responded with equally obscure comments. Nothing about being sick or on vacation or quitting his job at the library or—the thought came to Derek like a chill wind—going back to UCLA already.

Feeling a little better, but not much, Derek paged half-heartedly though his study guide, but his heart wasn't in it. The library was actually kind of boring now without Stiles, and it seemed like Madeline was keeping an extra close watch him, but that could have been residual paranoia from the sex book incident. After less than an hour he gave up and left.

It was a hot day, unusually so for Northern California, and riding his bike in the mercilessly bright sun sort of sucked, so halfway home Derek stopped for ice cream. There was no rush to get back anyway. His mom and Laura had taken the little ones to the beach, his Dad was at work, and Kurt was out hiking with Audrey. Normally Derek would have relished a chance to have the whole house to himself, but now it just seemed like a waste of a day he'd anticipated spending at least partially with Stiles.

He got a double cone and hunkered gloomily on the curb, knees practically up around his ears because he was several years past too tall to sit there comfortably. The ice cream was good, but he wasn't really all that hungry, and it was only doing a passable job of making him feel any less hot and sweaty. He was contemplating tossing it out and going home anyway when he saw Stiles' Jeep whiz by, and just as quickly slow down a little too abruptly, do a very illegal U-turn, and come bumping into the parking lot. 

The door opened before the engine even shut off completely, and Stiles scrambled out. He was grinning, and looked incredibly pleased to see Derek. All of Derek's broodiness evaporated instantly.

"Hey, you're back!" Stiles said as Derek got to his feet, and the next thing Derek knew he was being hugged. A big, hearty, back-slapping hug that got some ice cream on the back of Stiles' T-shirt, but he didn't seem to notice.

Stiles was in shorts and a T-shirt, and had a baseball hat on--backwards like Kurt wore his. He was really sweaty and kind of dirty, and smelled so, so good; Derek had to will himself to not close his eyes and sway toward him, just breathe him in. 

Stiles must have noticed Derek's nose twitching, because he took a step back and plucked at his damp shirt. "A bunch of us decided to get together and play lacrosse on the hottest day of the year," he said ruefully. "I probably stink."

"No, it's fine," Derek said, and then, because he wasn't sure he could keep talking about how Stiles smelled without doing something embarrassing, he said, "I was at the library, but you weren't there."

"Yeah, I worked a whole bunch of days for Madeline when her daughter got married last week, so now she's making it up to me." His eyes snagged on Derek's ice cream and he asked, "Hey, is that Blue Moon?" 

"It's my favorite," Derek said, and on impulse proffered the rapidly melting cone, then stood mesmerized as Stiles actually took it from him and licked a deep stripe along the side of it, digging a furrow with his pink tongue. Derek felt like he was never going to be able to make his throat swallow again, ever ever _ever_.

"How'd your practice questions go today?" Stiles asked before he licked again, looking up at Derek through his eyelashes as he lapped up another mouthful.

"I didn't do them," Derek admitted. He probably sounded like he was suffocating, but Stiles didn't seem to notice. "It's algebra day…" he trailed off, watching Stiles drag the flat of his tongue around the edge of the cone itself to catch all the melted stuff before it dripped down his hand.

Stiles nodded as he swallowed. He knew Derek hated algebra. "You wanna come over and run through them?" he asked, right before he closed his entire mouth around the top scoop and sucked the point off of it, and Derek's words finally gave out and all he could do was nod.

~*~

"I'm just gonna clean up real quick," Stiles said, after he got Derek settled at the dining room table with a badly needed can of ice cold root beer, though Derek wasn't sure if he should drink the soda or pour it directly into his pants. Stiles disappeared up the stairs, and a minute later Derek heard the shower start running. Stiles was upstairs _naked_ and Derek was going to have a stroke. 

But before he fell down onto the Stilinski floor and died, he had to do one thing. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, almost dropped it, and then tried to type on the back side of it before he flipped it around.

 ** _At Stiles house!!!!!_** he finally managed to text to Rebecca, because he couldn't wait to tell her. This was a big deal, this was huge, this was more than he'd thought possible—though not something he hadn't pictured, many times. Usually alone at night in his room.

 ** _Doing what?!?!_** she texted back. Derek grinned. Rebecca almost never used extra punctuation—she considered it plebeian—so she considered this a big deal, too.

**_Studying!_ **

**_Right. Studying. Sure_** , she responded. Before Derek could answer, she sent another text: **_Are you even allowed to date?_**

Derek sighed at the phone. Rebecca had figured out very early on that there was something different about his family, and had once asked him, with complete sincerity, if they belonged to a cult. When Derek had denied it, she had extended an open-ended invitation to stay with her family if he ever needed to, as she put it, "seek asylum."

 ** _Of course I'm allowed to date_** , Derek shot back, with an eye-rolling emoticon attached. **_But probably not guys who are Kurt's age_** , he admitted. Laura's boyfriend was older than she was, but only by two years. Five years was kind of a lot.

Derek was so focused on alternately texting Rebecca and picturing what was going on upstairs that it completely took him by surprise when the back door suddenly opened and a man walked in. A man in a sheriff's uniform, which meant he was Stiles' father. Derek bolted upright in his chair, feeling his mouth fall open and sort of stupidly hang there, but the sheriff didn't seem particularly surprised to see a strange kid sitting at his dining room table.

He gave Derek an eerily familiar squinty once over and said, "You must be a Hale."

"Yes, sir," Derek said, just as Stiles came pounding down the stairs. He was dressed in clean clothes, but his hair was wet and his feet were bare.

"Hey, Dad! This is Derek," Stiles said, with what seemed like a little too much enthusiasm. "Derek, this is my dad." 

The sheriff leaned over the table to shake Derek's hand. "I busted your brother once. For the pigeon thing," he said.

"I remember that," Derek said. His dad had had to drive into town and pick Kurt up at the police station. No charges had been pressed, but Kurt had been banned from playing lacrosse for the rest of the season, _and_ been grounded for a month. But it was Kurt's crime, not Derek's, and it was a little refreshing to have someone not immediately bring up Kurt's athletic accomplishments. "You should have thrown the book at him," he told Stiles' dad.

Mr. Stilinski actually laughed at that, and Derek liked him a lot already. 

"This one is much better behaved," Stiles said, and gave Derek's shoulder a little squeeze.

"I hope so," Stiles' dad said. "Though if he's hanging around with you, I'm not so sure how well-behaved he can be." He gave Stiles a wryly pointed look.

Stiles made a sound of outrage, and the whole exchange seemed to Derek to be teasing but with a grain of truth on both sides. Derek had already figured out that Stiles had a little troublemaker in him—just seeing him in the library was enough to know that—but he had maybe underestimated that part a little bit.

"We're going over some PSAT questions," Stiles said, even though the sheriff hadn't asked why Derek was there. "I've been helping him."

As he spoke, a sharp, acrid note hit Stiles' scent, noticeable even through the fresh smell of soap, and Derek looked over at him, but Stiles was still smiling like nothing was wrong. Derek recognized that smell, though: Stiles felt guilty about something. Derek was one of six kids, which meant someone was always up to something they weren't supposed to be; the Hale house pretty much reeked of guilt 24/7.

The natural conclusion was that Stiles felt guilty about hanging out with him, but Derek wasn't sure why.

~*~ 

"You staying for dinner, Derek?" Stiles' dad asked, sticking his head around the door. Derek and Stiles were sitting on the same side of the table, hunched over Derek's notebook, shoulders pressed together, and had been for a while. Under the table, Stiles' bare ankle was hooked behind Derek's. Derek was in a state of disbelief and triumph. 

Derek darted a glance at Stiles, who smiled encouragingly. "I'll have to ask," he admitted, feeling about six years old. Stiles probably didn't have to ask his dad to eat at someone else's house. He hated reminding Stiles how much younger he was.

Dinner was…absurdly calm. Derek was used to a big family at the table, all talking at once and squabbling over who lost the purple Wii remote or trying to get someone to pass the butter. Derek never ate dinner at Isaac's house, but he'd been to Rebecca's a few times, which was also a smaller crowd than he was used to--she had only one sister, because her parents believed in zero population growth--but her family liked to debate controversial topics over meals, which only made Derek feel anxious and nauseated, so he had usually tried to wiggle out of eating there. Plus, they ate a lot of kale.

Mr. Stilinski asked a lot of questions—he was a cop, Derek remembered—of both Derek and Stiles. The questions seemed innocent enough, like what Stiles had done with his day and how Derek was utilizing his summer vacation, but Derek got the impression Stiles' dad was pretty good at hearing what wasn't being said, too. He had a pleasant, lived-in face that looked like he spent a lot of time outside, and seemed kind of tired. But he and Stiles were obviously close, and Derek wondered a little what it was like to be an only child. He would never trade his family for any other in the whole world—they weren't just his family, they were his pack—but there was a certain novelty to the idea of having a parent's undivided attention all the time. 

After dinner, Derek and Stiles did the dishes while Mr. Stilinski spread some papers out on the dining room table and put on his reading glasses and grumbled to himself.

"We're gonna go upstairs," Stiles said, when they were done in the kitchen, while Derek quietly had a heart attack. They were going _upstairs_ to Stiles' _bedroom_.

Stiles' dad looked at Derek over the top of his reading glasses. "You have a curfew, Derek?"

"Yes, sir. Eleven." It seemed like he couldn't get away from constantly reminding Stiles that he was a kid who had to follow his parents' rules.

"You certainly are polite," Mr. Stilinski said to Derek. Then, to Stiles, "Maybe I'll keep him and send you over to the Hales instead."

"Har har har," Stiles said, and grabbed Derek by the arm and urged him toward the stairs.

"Make sure you have him home on time, Stiles," Mr. Stilinski called after them. "Not one minute late."

"I _will_ , Dad. _God_ ," Stiles said, sounding more like a teenager than Derek had ever heard, and suddenly the age difference between them didn't seem so big after all.

"Nice meeting you, Derek," Stiles' dad called, as they escaped up the stairs, and Derek yelled back, "You, too!"

Stiles' room wasn't really all that different from Derek's. A little messy, with a twin bed in the corner and posters on the walls. Stiles had more sports equipment and fewer half-finished robots, though. There were several framed photos around, most of them of a younger Stiles with a woman who was probably his mother. They had the same smile. 

While Derek was looking around, Stiles was busy digging around in his bookshelf, and when he finally turned back around his arms were full of books—graphic novels and hardcover collections of comic books.

"Grab a seat," Stiles said, jerking his chin toward the bed, which was the one thing in the room Derek had been trying not to look at. When he did, he noticed it looked hastily made, like maybe Stiles had done it when he'd been getting cleaned up, which meant he'd been planning to bring Derek up here. 

When Derek sat, cross-legged near the foot of the bed, Stiles sat down, too, and dumped the books in a pile between them. Derek immediately reached for _Watchmen_ , a book he'd always wanted to read, and then also grabbed a volume of _Sin City_. He'd always been too embarrassed to check them out of the library after the whole _Joy of Sex_ debacle.

Stiles snagged something for himself out of the pile and then rolled onto his stomach and opened it up, so Derek did the same. It only took him a few minutes to decide Frank Miller wasn't for him and Alan Moore required more concentration than he was capable of at the moment. He set them both aside and switched to _Batgirl_. 

Once Derek got settled, they read a little and talked a little, and at some point all the rest of the books got moved to the floor and Stiles flipped over and squirmed a little closer and used the back of Derek's thigh as a pillow. At that point, even _Batgirl_ became impossible to follow.

Actually, Derek was going a little crazy, sprawled on Stiles' bed, with Stiles touching him a little but not nearly enough, but he couldn't figure out what to do. He'd been hoping Stiles wanted to bring him up here to make out or something, but Stiles seemed content to just lie on him and read _Tiny Titans_ , and there was no good way, in this position, for Derek to make a move.

The minutes ticked by and Stiles did nothing, and Derek started to wonder if he was making something out of nothing. But guys usually didn't touch each other this much unless they were interested in doing other stuff, Derek told himself. Stiles clearly wanted to do more, but he wasn't trying to, for some reason. Derek had finally decided he was going to have to be the bold one when Stiles sat up and said, "I guess we should get going." 

When Derek dug his phone out of his pocket he saw it was 10:30 already. He'd waited too long, and lost his chance.

~*~

It was getting to be familiar, Stiles opening the back of the Jeep and unloading Derek's bike. But this time there was no rain, and they could linger a little if they wanted, for a few minutes at least. It wasn't quite 11:00 yet.

Stiles glanced at the house, where there were a few lights on, and then his eyes dipped down to look at Derek's mouth. Derek _saw_ it, and he knew what it meant. Stiles was thinking about kissing him. Derek tried to make a face that was both an indication he was open to being kissed and also not too ridiculous, but he must have failed, because Stiles jerked his gaze away and said, "I'll see you Wednesday, I guess?" At the library, he meant.

"Yeah, Wednesday," Derek said, trying not to sound too disappointed, but he was.

As Stiles got back in the Jeep, waiting with the engine running until he was sure Derek was safely in the house, Derek didn't miss the fact that Stiles stunk of guilt again.

Maybe it was because of the age difference, or maybe it was because he thought Derek didn't want to be kissed. Derek couldn't do anything about the first one, but he could definitely do something about the second.


	4. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Otter for her assistance with this chapter! <3

**_September_**

**_Although some think the terms "bug" and "insect" are ____ , the former term actually refers to _____ group of insects._**  
 ** _(A) parallel . . an identical_**  
 ** _(B) precise . . an exact_**  
 ** _(C) interchangeable . . a particular_**  
 ** _(D) exclusive . . a separate_**  
 ** _(E) useful . . a useless_**

"A bunch of us are going mini golfing Friday night. You wanna come?" Stiles asked, leaning casually against Derek's table. He was wearing another one of his clingy cardigans, the cuffs stretched tight where they were pushed up around his forearms. Derek had a hard time not staring at the hair that swept over the tops of his wrists. 

"Yeah. That'd be awesome," Derek said, trying to play it cool, but he was feeling anything but cool. This was the first time they'd seen each other since dinner at Stiles' house on Monday, and he was already asking Derek if he wanted to hang out again. And it was an actual social outing, with his friends and everything. This was a big deal.

"Gimme your number," Stiles said, sliding his phone out of his pants pocket. As soon as he was done punching the number in, he sent Derek a text message that said, _**Just don't drunk dial me haha!**_

This was progress. 

Derek grinned all the way home.

~*~

Derek appealed to his mother for permission first, because she was the one who always talked about how important it was for Derek and his siblings to branch out and experience new things. It was all about strategy.

She was in the kitchen when he got home, mashing an enormous pot of potatoes. They were having his dad's pot roast for dinner, which was everyone's favorite, but his dad's potatoes were no one's favorite. They were gluey and gross. He wasn't allowed to make them anymore.

Derek melted the butter and then mixed it with the heated milk without being asked, trying to sweeten his mom up a little before he made his request. Some situations called for a complete abandonment of shame, and this was one of them.

"With Kurt's friend?" she asked, when Derek explained, and he let that slide by without correction. Lies of omission were pretty much the only ones that could go undetected in this house. Derek had never actually _said_ Stiles and Kurt were friends, but he hadn't refuted it, either. Kurt probably would, if anyone ever said it in front of him; they hadn't been that close in high school, as far as Derek knew. "Who else will be there?"

"I’m not sure. A bunch of people, I guess. I don't know them." Too late, Derek realized that might be a deal breaker. "Do you want me to find out?" he offered, which was a testament to how badly he wanted permission. Going back to Stiles for that information would be humiliating, but maybe he could pass it off as his own curiosity instead of a parental demand.

His mother tasted the mashed potatoes and then dumped in some more pepper before turning her shrewd eye on him. He must have looked especially desperate or trustworthy or something, because she eventually said, "No. I suppose you're old enough to choose who you spend your time with. Check with your father, too. And make sure Stiles knows you have a curfew."

"He _knows_ ," Derek groaned, chafing under the reminder that he had to follow rules Stiles didn't. "He drove me home last time, remember?"

"Put these on the table," she said, handing him a plate of biscuits. She wasn’t prone to reiterating her point once she'd made it.

Derek's dad was sitting on the couch between Vi and Henry, reading aloud from a book about penguins, and stopped just long enough to give his assent and remind Derek of his curfew. 

"Yes, _I know_ ," Derek said, eyerolling his way out of the room with the biscuits.

Parents were so impossible.

~*~

Lulled into a false sense of security by how easily he'd gotten permission to go, Derek was totally blindsided at dinner when his father brought it up in front of the entire family.

"Laura, if Derek needs the car on Friday, you let him have it," Dad said, in a tone of voice that said he would brook no arguments.

"I don't need it," Derek said hastily, partly in hopes of killing the topic completely, but also because he was shallow, and the Jeep was way cooler than the Volvo. Stiles had already said he was going to drive anyway.

"Where are you going?" Laura asked, zeroing in on Derek. Having a big sister was a curse.

"Out," Derek said flatly. Laura wasn't his parent or his alpha. He didn't have to tell her anything.

"He's going mimigolving with Stiles," Henry volunteered, cheeks bulging with mashed potatoes. Derek briefly wondered how someone so tiny and cute could be such an enormous traitor.

"Not with your mouth full, honey," Mom reminded Henry. "And it's 'mini golfing.' Like what Uncle Peter does, but a little different."

"Stiles Stilinski?" Laura asked, eyebrows climbing, because of course she'd hone right in on that part. "Isn't he Kurt's friend?"

"He's my friend, too. We've been hanging out," Derek said, feeling peeved. He couldn't help, though, glancing up at Kurt, who was across the table from him, being a barrier between the twins, who tended to squabble during dinner. Kurt was giving Derek a speculative look, but remained thankfully silent.

It was all for naught, though, because nothing got past Laura.

"Derek has a cru-ush," Laura sing-songed, grinning smugly, and Derek ducked his head and stabbed at his pot roast and said, "Shut up, Laura."

~*~

When Friday finally rolled around--after what felt like an interminable wait--Derek went to the library as usual and got absolutely nothing done except mooning over Stiles and talking about Ray Harryhausen movies with Stiles, and wishing he could kiss Stiles. So not a total waste of time.

He stayed at the library until close, and then Stiles loaded Derek's bike into the Jeep and they went to Scott's house. Derek found his excitement slowly morphing into nervousness as they got closer to Scott's, but he told himself it would be fine. Stiles' friends were regular people, just like Derek's friends. There was nothing to be nervous about.

Derek had successfully convinced himself that was true by the time they pulled up to the McCall house, but it only took him a second or two to realize his error. He should have asked who Stiles' friends were, whether Mom wanted to know or not, because then at least he wouldn't have been surprised to walk into Scott's living room and see Jackson Whittemore, who Derek recognized but had never actually talked to, and Jackson's girlfriend, who also looked familiar, plus Scott and his girlfriend, who happened to be _Allison Argent_.

Allison recognized Derek immediately, and she handled it better than he did—her smile barely even faltered before she said, "Nice to see you again, Derek." It was a smart move, because then Derek knew they weren't going to pretend they were meeting for the first time. When she noticed Scott and Stiles giving them matching questioning looks, Allison explained, "Our families know each other."

Derek, and everyone else in the Hale pack, absolutely knew who the Argents were. Almost every town with an actual pack in it had a group of hunters living there as well; it was the natural balance of things. The Argents and the Hales had lived side-by-side for generations, never friends but never enemies, just something in between. 

There was a truce, had been for decades, and the families weren't exactly social, but there was a symbolic annual dinner, alternating between the Hale and Argent houses, where they all gathered together and reaffirmed their intent to not kill anyone. Children from both sides always attended, as a show of trust. Derek had been going to them as long as he could remember. 

Kurt had gone to school with Allison, so he was probably used to seeing her outside of the dinners, but this was all new for Derek—there weren't any Argents in his age group. He nodded and mumbled, "Nice to see you, too," and then turned his attention to Jackson's girlfriend. Stiles introduced her as Lydia, and she gave him the most patronizing smile he'd ever seen, until two seconds later when he was introduced to Jackson.

"You didn't tell us you had to babysit tonight, Stilinski," Jackson said, to Derek's utter embarrassment.

"Shut up, Jackson," Stiles said, in a tone of voice Derek had never heard him use before. It made Derek tense up; he always got anxious when people around him argued or raised their voices.

"I think he's cute," Lydia said, looking Derek up and down. "But we all know Stiles has good taste." Everyone laughed at that except Stiles, who made a rude gesture at her.

Derek looked from Stiles to Lydia, who was smoothing one of her shiny red curls down the front of her shirt, and then at Stiles again, and the only logical conclusion he could draw was that they had, at some point in the past, dated. And then he realized where he recognized her from: Stiles' Winter Formal pictures on Facebook. She was Kendra's infamous cousin, who had sipped the strawberry sherbert punch. She was Stiles' literal girlfriend in a coma.

Well, that was just great. They were gonna hang out with Stiles' best friend, Stiles' high school crush, total jerkface Jackson Whittemore, and Allison Argent. Derek could feel his high hopes for the evening melting like a sandcastle at high tide.

"Ignore Jackson. He doesn't know how to be a decent human being," Stiles said to Derek. That didn't even seem to bother Jackson. If anything, he seemed pleased to have scored a hit off Stiles by going after Derek. Kurt hadn't been particularly fond of Jackson, Derek remembered, and interacting with him for thirty seconds already had Derek agreeing with his brother. It was going to be a long night.

"I guess we should get going," Scott said into the uncomfortable silence. He smiled at Derek, and punched him lightly on the arm as he walked past him to the door. At least one of Stiles' friends liked him.

Thankfully, Jackson's car only had room for two, so he and Lydia rode together, leaving Stiles to ferry the rest of the group. The first minute or two of the trip was awkwardly quiet, but then they passed a guy on a motorcycle with a dog in the sidecar—the dog was even wearing goggles—and that was enough to get everyone talking. From there the conversation just took off, and in no time at all they were pulling into the parking lot at Pirate's Cove.

This wasn't Derek's first visit to the place, and it was pretty much how he remembered it. The pirate theme meant the place had a lot of waterfalls and little ponds, and it was down the road from a donut shop, so the whole place always smelled like hot dough and chlorine. It was kind of a nauseating mix.

On a warm Friday night in the summer, it was swarming with teenagers. Derek recognized some of them from school, said hi to a few, waved at a few others, and ignored two people he didn't like. He definitely saw at least one obvious double-take over who he was hanging out with; he tried not to visibly gloat about it.

Stiles paid for Derek before Derek could even protest, and once they had their putters and balls—Stiles insisted on the hot pink one—they shuffled their way to the first hole.

Derek was actually really good a mini golf, because it was 90% geometry, and Derek was awesome at geometry. By the fifth hole he was competing with Allison for the lead—Allison had been regional junior archery champion, so trajectories were her specialty. Stiles was strictly average, but constantly sabotaged his score by setting goals for himself like, "I bet I can hit Blackbeard in the eye!" instead of focusing on getting the ball where it was supposed to go. Poor Lydia trailed well behind everyone else the whole time, because Jackson kept sneaking up behind her and kissing her on the neck while she tried to hit the ball. 

Once they got into the groove of playing, whooping when they made a shot and taking goofy pictures with their phones, Derek relaxed and started enjoying himself. Everyone except Jackson was friendly—he never passed up a chance to mock Scott or Stiles or Derek for missing a shot, though Derek noticed he left the girls alone, which was probably wise. Derek knew Allison was skilled in the use of several deadly weapons, and Lydia seemed like she could be equally as dangerous wielding a verbal jab.

Jackson's ongoing jackassery aside, Derek was just happy to be hanging out with Stiles. So happy that it actually took him a few holes to notice the dynamic: Scott and Allison, a couple. Lydia and Jackson, obviously another couple--and thank God for that, because at least it kept them occupied with each other instead of inflicting their personalities on other, more innocent people. And then…Stiles and Derek. 

If Stiles thought it was awkward that it looked like they were on a triple date, he gave no indication. Derek couldn't help but wonder if they _were_ on a triple date. 

Wonder. Hope. Whatever.

~*~

They went out for Mexican food after, a place Derek had never been to but had heard was good. The hostess led them all the way to the back, to a big round booth set in the corner, where they squeaked their way across the red pleather and got settled. There was more than enough room for everyone, but that didn't stop Stiles from sliding over until his arm was pressed right up against Derek's. 

"Mexican's my favorite," Stiles said as he ignored his own menu and leaned over to read Derek's instead, catching Derek's ankle with his foot again, like he had that afternoon at his house. Derek could hear Stiles' heart, beating a lot faster than usual. 

Across the table, Jackson had his arm slung around Lydia's shoulders. Scott and Allison were holding hands on top of the table while they read their menus. Stiles' head dipped a little more, bringing his face closer to Derek's. 

Feeling bold, and a little encouraged by the pitter-pat of Stiles' excited heartbeat drumming in his ears, Derek shifted over a little so Stiles could hold the other side of the menu, and then slid his hand along the back of the seat, low, so he could hook it around Stiles' hip. That had the welcome result of making Stiles lean into him even more. 

Derek couldn't help himself—he did another quick check of the rest of the table, but they were all engrossed in their own menus, and no one seemed to notice or care what Stiles and Derek were doing. He bent his head back down over their menu, as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd seen in ages. His mouth was just inches away from Stiles'.

Derek's face felt like it was flushed, and he was having a hard time focusing on anything other than every point of contact between his body and Stiles', but when he snuck a sideways glance over at Stiles, his cheeks looked a little pinker than usual, so at least Derek wasn't alone in getting all goofy over some innocent touching. So goofy he could barely even read, and when the waitress came by to take their orders, Derek had to hurriedly scan the menu for something he wanted to eat.

As they worked their way through two baskets of chips dipped in the best salsa Derek had ever had, he realized hanging out with people Stiles' age wasn't actually that different, aside from the fact that some of them were drinking alcohol instead of soda. He'd thought they'd seem older to him, like Kurt did, but lacking the frame of reference of spending his entire life being younger than they were made the age difference almost invisible. They were just people who talked about what movies they'd seen, and how often they stayed up late to finish homework, and which Pizza Pit location was the best. They threw straw wrappers and told embarrassing stories about each other, and Derek completely forgot about the age difference until Jackson—of course it was Jackson—threw it in his face again.

It was just an innocent conversation about camping that started when Lydia mentioned that another friend of theirs, Danny, was trying to decide where to go on his next trip. Derek knew a lot about camping, because his family loved it. He'd had taken his first steps on the grass outside the family tent on the banks of the Rogue River in Oregon. There was video of it and everything. 

"What about Big Sur?" Derek volunteered. It was one of his favorite places. "I've been there. It's pretty cool. The hot springs—"

"No one asked you, Jailbait," Jackson cut him off, and Derek closed his mouth, mortified. Growing up with two older siblings had left Derek with a comparatively thick skin, but his age was the one thing he didn't want brought up, and Jackson had honed in on it like a missile. Derek wanted to slither down in his seat until he could hide under the table.

Next to him, he felt Stiles stiffen as he looked at Scott and said, "Dude!" and then Scott looked at Allison and said, "Allison?" and then Allison looked at Lydia and said, "Please?" and then Lydia looked at Jackson and said, "We all know he's still in high school, but Stiles likes him anyway, and I know for a fact you dated a reality TV 'star,'" –here she made little air quotes with her fingers-- "that semester you were in London, so let's just move on, hmm?"

"You broke up with me before I left," Jackson protested, jaw clenched. It sounded like this was a sore topic. 

Lydia rolled her eyes and took a sip of her margarita. "You didn't have to give up on having standards," she said crisply, and everyone but Jackson and Derek laughed at that. 

"So you liked Big Sur?" Scott asked Derek, bringing them back on topic now that Jackson had been scolded. 

"Yeah," Derek said, and then told a few stories about it, because screw Jackson Whittemore. 

Stiles gave Derek a lopsided, apologetic smile as his hand squeezed Derek's knee under the table. Derek smiled back, and gave him a reassuring bump with his shoulder, because as shitty as that whole exchange had been, Lydia had said right in front of everyone that Stiles liked him, and Stiles hadn't even batted an eye.

~*~

The Mexican place was near the shopping district in downtown Beacon Hills, so they wandered around a little after dinner, looking in all the windows, giving some money to a woman playing the saxophone near the fountain. Eventually they found their way into the frozen yogurt place and spent an absurd amount of time making their choices--and mocking each other's choices--before finding seats on the edge of the fountain.

"You want a taste?" Stiles offered, holding his cup out. Derek wrinkled his nose and shook his head; Stiles had gotten cake batter froyo as his base, which always _sounded_ like a great idea but inevitably tasted like chemicals and disappointment. "Fine," Stiles harrumphed, and then scowled with mock indignation. "I didn't want to try yours anyway."

"Of course you didn't," Derek said, laughing. Then he held out his cup, which was filled with creamy, chocolately, peanut buttery goodness, and also little marshmallows. Stiles didn't even hesitate before plunging his pink plastic spoon in and taking a big bite.

In the end, Stiles ate his entire cup, and finished Derek's, and then ate the last of Lydia's too. Derek, stuffed to the tips of his ears, was pretty impressed that Stiles could out-eat a teenaged werewolf.

Feeling drugged on sugar, he let himself laze against Stiles' side as they sat and people-watched for a while, listening to the saxophone lady noodle away. Stiles chatted with Scott, arm draped casually across the back of Derek's neck. Every once in a while he'd idly rub his thumb over the ball of Derek's shoulder, like he didn't even realize he was doing it.

Around the time Derek was starting to think he had to either get up and move around or risk dozing off and falling into the fountain, Stiles' phone vibrated in his pocket. He had to let go of Derek to take it out, thumbing the screen before giving Scott a nudge.

"I think I'm gonna call it a night," Stiles said, and Derek, still feeling a little slow and sleepy, suddenly remembered his curfew and checked his own phone: 10:31pm. Crap. He glanced up at Stiles, who gave him a small smile and nodded, and Derek knew immediately what had just happened. Stiles had set the alarm on his phone so he could get Derek home in time, and now he wasn't mentioning exactly why they had to leave. 

Derek could only smile helplessly back. Stiles was being so understanding about the whole thing, and Derek was especially grateful for it, given the way Jackson seemed to have honed in on his age and wouldn't let it go. It made it slightly less humiliating. Slightly.

Jackson and Lydia parted ways with everyone first, Jackson barely glancing at them as he twirled his car keys on his finger. Lydia hugged everyone but Derek, but he got a pleasant enough verbal goodbye, which he returned. The rest of the group made their way back to the Jeep through the rapidly thinning after dinner crowd. Most of the shops were already closing up.

Stiles dropped Scott and Allison off before taking Derek home, which didn't make much sense geographically, but Derek wasn't going to protest. It gave them a chance to be alone at the end of the night. When they got to Derek's house, it was the same familiar pattern, unloading Derek's bike and then standing in the driveway staring at each other. 

"Sorry about Jackson," Stiles said, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked up at the house, then back at Derek. The porch light was on, and the light above the sink in the kitchen was glowing softly through the curtains, but that was it. The house was dark and quiet, at least on this side. His parents' bedroom faced the Preserve, not the driveway. No one was watching.

"That's okay," Derek said. "I didn't expect any different. I remember Kurt saying he was kind of a dick." 

"Yeah," Stiles laughed. "He pretty much is. But he's Lydia's boyfriend, and Lydia is Allison's friend, so we have to tolerate him. He's actually better than he used to be, believe it or not."

"Wow," Derek said, amazed that what he'd seen tonight was "better." It was a dismaying thought, though, that he was a regular part of Stiles' social circle, because Derek knew that if he ever had to spend time with Jackson again, he'd end up enduring more of the same—Jackson had figured out just where to poke, and he was the kind of guy who would use that information every chance he got. "If that's better, I'm kind of impressed."

"I know, right? I hope you had a good time anyway." Stiles actually looked a little nervous that Derek _hadn't_ , which was ridiculous.

"I did," Derek said, and he meant it. A few weeks ago he hadn't dared hope he'd ever actually hang out with Stiles Stilinski, had basically been resigned to pining away like a loser all summer long. Tonight had been a dream come true.

Stiles smiled crookedly at him but didn't say anything. They were standing a little too close for guys who were just friends, and Stiles was looking at Derek's mouth again. This was totally a date, and a date should end with a kiss.

Screw it. Derek was just going to go for it. He leaned into Stiles' space, and he heard Stiles suck in a shallow breath, like he was surprised, which made Derek hesitate just long enough…

For the front door to open and Kurt to come bounding down the steps.

"Stilinski!" he said, in his big, booming jock voice, as Derek hastily took a step back.

"Hey, Kurt!" Stiles said with what Derek thought was not-quite-sincere happiness, as Kurt bore down on him, grinning. Stiles grinned back and they did that dumb bro-fist bumping thing. Derek tried not to think less of Stiles because of it, with mixed results.

"How you been, dude?" Kurt asked, and he and Stiles spent a few minutes briefly catching up, in general terms, while Derek wondered if he should just go in the house and let them talk.

When they were all up to date, Derek did his best to make a face that would politely tell Kurt to scram, but Kurt didn't seem to be picking up on it. 

"I'm meeting Weitzel and Bobby G for a beer, you wanna come?" Kurt asked Stiles, and Derek wasn't proud of the jealousy he immediately felt, and irritation at Kurt for horning in on his night with Stiles, even though Stiles and Kurt had known each other first. But it was curfew time for Derek, his time with Stiles was over, and even if it weren't, he couldn't go to a bar. If his first date with Stiles ended with no kiss _and_ Stiles going out for a beer with Kurt afterwards, Derek was going to lock himself in his room and listen to every depressing song on his iPod three times.

Stiles' eyes flicked to Derek, and then he shook his head and said, "Thanks, man, maybe some other time." Derek's already substantial crush on Stiles grew another size or so. 

Even though Stiles didn't want to hang out, Kurt insisted on showing him his stupid car, which took forever because Kurt didn't skip even the littlest detail. A few years ago he'd entered one of those contests where a bunch of people compete for a car by seeing who can touch it the longest, and had actually won it. Derek couldn't imagine wanting a Camaro—or much of anything—badly enough to stand there with one hand plastered to it for three and a half days, but Kurt was really proud of both his accomplishment and the car. Stiles acted suitably impressed with both.

After that Kurt wanted to exchange numbers with Stiles, so they got out their phones and took care of that while Derek stood off to the side and rolled his eyes dramatically at the sky. Big brothers were so terrible, maybe even worse than big sisters. 

Once that was all done, Derek hoped Stiles would hang around until his brother took off, and then they'd maybe have another chance for a kiss, but Kurt didn't seem inclined to leave until Stiles did, so in the end Stiles gave Derek a rueful smile, said, "See ya later," and got in the Jeep and drove away.

"Later," Derek sighed, waving at the Jeep's taillights, and then he went inside, stomped up the stairs and flung himself face down onto his bed. 

Foiled again.

~*~

The next day, Derek had just finished his daily clarinet practice when Kurt knocked on his bedroom door. 

"Come in," Derek called as he carefully wiped off his reed and put it away.

Kurt opened the door, walked in, then closed it behind him and leaned against it, hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. He was a big, handsome guy, who could be kind of a jerk, but got away with it because he knew how to be charming when the situation called for it. Derek didn't know how to be anything but himself.

"Do I need to tell Stilinski to keep his grubby mitts off my little brother?" Kurt asked. He was smirking, like maybe he was just teasing, but his voice was serious. 

"No," Derek said quickly, and what he meant was, _Oh God, please don't. I will die of embarrassment and you will ruin my life and any chance I have of getting kissed by the hottest librarian in California._

Kurt pushed off the door and walked over to bellyflop on Derek's bed. He watched Derek clean and disassemble his clarinet for a minute, then said, "Kind of a surprise, you guys hanging out all of a sudden."

"We see each other at the library a lot," Derek shrugged. He focused intently on his clarinet, because he was afraid he'd give too much away if he actually looked at Kurt. "It's not a big deal."

Derek heard Kurt make a noise like he didn’t believe for a second it was no big deal, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he picked up Derek's latest issue of _Robot Magazine_ and started flipping through it. "Stilinski's an okay guy," he said, pausing to turn the magazine sideways like he was checking out a _Playboy_ centerfold. "Kind of a nerd. But so are you, so I guess that's why you like him."

"He played lacrosse," Derek said, feeling the need to defend Stiles' honor a little.

"Yeah, he did," Kurt agreed, brightening. He tossed the magazine aside. "That year I got benched for the rest of the season because of the pigeons, he came in and saved the semi-final after Jackson and Danny got hurt. I think that was the only time he ever scored a goal, but he did it when it counted."

Derek had forgotten about that. Or, rather, he remembered hearing about it, but he hadn't been there—one of the few Beacon Hills lacrosse games he wasn't forced to attend during the time Kurt was on the team. Isaac's older brother had been on the team, too, which was how he and Isaac had become friends. Having someone to talk to had certainly made the time go faster; he'd spent most of Laura's interminable cheerleading competitions hunched on the hard bleacher seats reading a book or playing with his Game Boy. Life would have been a lot easier if Isaac had had an older sister, too.

But at the time of the lacrosse semi-finals, Mom had just had the twins, and Derek had fallen completely and totally in love with them from the moment he saw their scrunched-up red faces, and it hadn't taken much begging to get permission to stay home and help his mom while the rest of the family went to the game. Now he almost regretted not being there.

Kurt loved to talk about sports, something Derek would usually rather hang himself than listen to, but for once he was interested. "I wasn't at that game," he said, and that was all the prompting Kurt needed. Derek sat back and listened.

~*~

Derek didn't have the kind of job a lot of other kids his age did, working at a fast food place or lifeguarding or whatever—he made his money with music lessons, teaching little kids to play the piano and clarinet and assorted other instruments. In the summer he had students three mornings a week, and was done by noon, free to do what he wanted the rest of the day. It was a pretty sweet deal, aside from the inevitable abuse on his ears.

One poor soul, who had almost no musical talent at all, came every Thursday morning and sat at the piano in the Hale living room, thumping hopelessly on the keys while his mother had coffee with Mom in the kitchen. Derek also had one equally pitiful flute student, a middle school girl who had a really obvious crush on him. Her face burned red for the entire thirty minutes every week. It was embarrassing for the both of them.

Though he didn’t get paid for it, Derek was also in charge of giving piano lessons to Henry and Violet, who were too tiny to really do much but plink away at nursery rhymes, and their lessons lasted only a few minutes, because that was as along as anyone—the twins or Derek—could stand.

Now, at the tail end of summer, a lot of families were out of town, taking one last vacation before school started up again, and Derek had a light schedule. Only two students on Saturday, plus Henry and Vi, so by late morning he was done. He took care of the last few of his weekly chores, dutifully checking them off on the dry erase board in the pantry, and then texted with Rebecca for a while.

The first few minutes of their conversation involved Derek sitting patiently through a dozen texts about her hydroponic farming club. Derek loved Rebecca like she was one of his sisters, but he did not give a stone cold crap about hydroponics. Plus, he had big Stiles-related developments to over-analyze. 

_**I can't believe your brother crashed your first kiss! What an ass!**_ she said, when Derek finally finished giving her the details.

_**I knoooooow**_ , Derek sent back, feeling forlorn all over again. He'd been so close! He added a dozen frowny faces to convey the depth of his despair.

_**Buck up, little camper**_ , she replied. _**It sounds like he really likes you. Maybe he's just worried what your parents will think?**_

_**Possible**_ , Derek agreed. Probable, even, since Derek was worried about that, too. And Stiles' dad was the sheriff, who might be a little more sensitive than most parents about the issue of Derek being a minor. Laura had been seventeen when she started dating her boyfriend, who was nineteen at the time, but his dad was a dermatologist. He was more concerned with whether or not Laura used sunscreen than her age. 

But even without a goodnight kiss, the night had still been a success in a lot of ways. They'd cuddled, in front of Stiles' friends, at the restaurant, and Derek had heard the uptick in Stiles' heart, seen the flush on his face. Lydia had said right out loud that Stiles was _into him._ There was going to be kissing, if Derek had to move heaven and Earth to make it happen.

He and Rebecca analyzed it a little more before Derek decided it was just making him depressed and changed the subject. After that they talked about Rebecca's job at the family bookstore, and what classes they were taking when school started up again, and other general stuff. The conversation ended a few minutes later when Rebecca had to go to her gluten-free potlunch. Derek's mom wanted him to feed the twins, anyway.

He'd just finished making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when his phone pinged at him again. Thinking it was Rebecca sending him a picture of gluten-free brownies or something, he finished cutting the crusts off the twins' sandwiches first, adding them to his own plate, and got them both settled with sippy cups of milk--Violet was a notorious milk spiller--before he checked his phone, only to realize it was actually Stiles.

_**Want to hang out tonight?** _

_Oh my God yes, yes, yes, and yes!_ Derek thought. He typed out, _**Sure. What time?**_ because that sounded a little more sane.

_**Working right now**_ , Stiles responded a few interminable minutes later. _**Pick you up 6ish?**_

_**Sounds good. See you!** _

_**Can't wait!**_ Stiles said back, and then presumably went back to work, because he didn't say anything else after that. 

Derek read the exchange like five times, and then took a screenshot of it and texted it to Rebecca, who responded with **_Yay!_** and picture of gluten-free cookies that she insisted were "amazing." 

"I doubt it," Derek muttered to himself. They looked like dry lumps of mud.

When everyone had finished their sandwiches, Derek got up to put the plates in the dishwasher and turned back around just in time to see Violet's cup roll off the table. For a split second he congratulated himself on remembering to use the sippy cup, and then it hit the floor and the lid cracked in half and milk went everywhere.

"Oops," Violet said.

~*~

Having broken the seal with the mini-golf outing, getting permission to hang out with Stiles again was a breeze. Basically all Derek had to do was tell his parents where he was going to be that night, and neither of them even batted an eyelash. 

Derek lucked out even further when his parents took the twins and Audrey out for a movie and pizza, and Kurt and Laura were nowhere to be found—along with the Volvo, but Derek couldn't bring himself to care anymore. In a few weeks Laura would leave for school and he'd have it all to himself. The upshot was he was all alone in the house when Stiles showed up. Derek managed to preserve some dignity and not race down the front steps and kiss him then and there, but it was a close call.

They'd just seen each other not even twenty-four hours before, but Derek was still bordering on overjoyed to hang out with Stiles again, and Stiles seemed to be just as happy. They talked and talked and talked in the car, about what they'd done that day, and if there were any movies worth seeing they hadn't already seen. The answer to that was no, which Derek was secretly grateful for, because he didn't want to waste his night with Stiles sitting in a public place staring at a movie screen. He had _plans._

When the Jeep finally came to a stop, Derek looked around and realized they were at Stiles' house. Perfect.

Mr. Stilinski wasn't home—even more perfect—and this time Stiles led Derek right up into his room. It couldn't have gone better if Derek had actually engineered it.

Derek sat on the bed and kicked off his shoes while Stiles dumped his messenger bag on his desk and plugged his phone into the charger. He seemed a little nervous, running his hands through his hair and straightening his desk a little even though it looked neat enough. Derek couldn't really judge him for it, because his whole stomach was full of butterflies, but he was determined to make a move. Which he couldn't do with Stiles standing over by his desk, like he was now.

"You want a root beer?" Stiles asked him, when he finally turned around to look at Derek. He pushed his glasses up with his thumb, which was a habit Derek found unaccountably appealing. 

"No, thanks," Derek said. He didn't want something to drink. He wanted to make out with Stiles. He was tired of all this waiting. 

"Okay," Stiles said, going over to his bookshelf. He grabbed a few of the comics they'd read the last time Derek was over, and brought them over to the bed, where Derek was leaning back on his arms and watching him. "You want _Tiny Titans_?" he asked, sitting down cross-legged next to Derek.

Enough was enough. Derek reached out and took all the books away from Stiles and set them down out of the way. "I don't want to read comics," he said pointedly.

"Oh. Um," Stiles said, staring at the books. He ran his palms up and down his thighs, like maybe they were sweaty and he was trying to dry them off. Derek could sympathize. 

But then Stiles finally looked up and his eyes zeroed in on Derek's mouth again. Derek was feeling pretty drawn to Stiles' mouth, too, and they were all alone in the house, so it didn't really take much to let himself sway toward Stiles. Before he got close enough for their mouths to touch, Stiles grabbed the front of Derek's jacket, then flattened his hand against Derek's chest instead, like he couldn't decide if he was trying to stop Derek or encourage him. 

"We, um. Probably shouldn't do this," Stiles said, laughing nervously. "I'm a lot older than you are."

"I know that," Derek said impatiently, because _duh._ Stiles had gone to high school with Kurt. "I don't care."

"That's the thing," Stiles huffed. "We probably should care. I mean, technically, this is illegal. And my dad's _the sheriff_."

"I won't tell anyone," Derek said, low and desperate. His mouth was just inches away, and he was certain Stiles wanted to kiss him—he kept staring at Derek's mouth, and his heart thumped every time. "No one will know." Which was almost a lie, because Laura and Kurt both suspected, but they had no proof.

"That doesn't make me feel better. In fact, that makes me feel even more like a dirty old--oh, God," Stiles groaned, when Derek closed his fingers around a fold of Stiles' sweater and pulled. Gently, so he wouldn't tear it. "I’m going to hell," Stiles said, but his eyes were drifting shut and he was the one who closed the final inch of distance between them until their mouths touched.

It felt like falling, like the ground rushing up to meet him, and Derek's hand tightened involuntarily on Stiles' sweater as he closed his eyes and opened his mouth.

Derek had kissed a few people before, mostly girls, mostly at computer camp. The majority of his kissing experience was short little awkward things, furtive and blush-inducing and over before he really figured out what to do. And he'd certainly never kissed anyone, not even Erica, like this, the way Stiles' mouth slowly worked Derek's open, his hand moving to the back of Derek's neck as he dipped inside Derek's mouth over and over with a confidence that made Derek's whole body tighten up. 

For all his protests, once they got started Stiles was all in, kissing like he meant it, and then he curled his tongue in a way that made Derek moan into his mouth, and it was like flipping a switch. Stiles grabbed at Derek's head, tilting it to get a better angle and kiss him deeper, and Derek surged up into it as Stiles shuffled up onto his knees. Stiles never stopped kissing him as he shoved Derek's jacket off his shoulders and bore him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him. 

This was _definitely_ something Derek had never done, and he liked it. He lost the rhythm of the kiss as Stiles settled on him, a warm and pleasant weight, distracting. Derek pushed up into the pressure, so good where he was already so hard, and Stiles ground down on him, moaning. He was hard already, too, Derek could feel it. He hooked his arms under Stiles' and grabbed onto his back, sweater bunching in his fists, and dove for Stiles' mouth again. He couldn't get enough.

Stiles' hands felt like they were everywhere, and Derek's whole body was tingling with the touches, a palm cupping his face, fingers twisting in his hair, and all the while Stiles' hips were moving in slow, firm circles, working their dicks against each other. Derek he couldn't help the noises he made into Stiles' mouth, or the way his hands clutched at Stiles' clothes. 

"You feel so good," Stiles said into his ear, before he started working his mouth under his chin, driving Derek crazy with hot sucking kisses on his neck. "I wanted to do this—I wanted—"

"Me, too," Derek choked out, gratified by the way Stiles made a soft little moan when Derek rolled his hips up to meet him.

"Oh, God. Okay, you were right, this was a good idea," Stiles mumbled as he faceplanted into the crook of Derek's neck. His hips kept moving. "I'm a dumbass."

Derek laughed, though it came out kind of strangled-sounding. "You're not a dumbass," he said as he closed his teeth the rim of Stiles' ear. "I just got tired of waiting."

"Good call," Stiles panted, lifting up enough to worm a hand between them and cover Derek's hard dick with his palm, fingers flexing. Derek made an involuntary noise and his hips bucked up into the touch. _Wow._ He'd never had anyone else touch him when he was hard.

"You want me to do something about this?" Stiles said, kissing the corner of Derek's mouth. When he pulled back a little, his eyes were bright and mischievous. His glasses were a little crooked and his mouth was really red.

It seemed a really big jump to go from kissing to whatever it was Stiles was planning to do, and Derek had been enjoying the kissing. He hesitated, just long enough for Stiles to notice, and then panicked a little when he noticed Stiles noticing. 

"Yes," Derek said quickly, as Stiles took his hand away and said, "Maybe another time."

Afraid he'd ruined the moment, Derek said, "Wait, I want to," but Stiles was already sliding off of him, despite Derek grabbing on and trying to keep him where he was. He came down on the bed next to Derek, head propped up on his hand, but didn't stop touching him. His hand cupped Derek's hip bone through his jeans, and Derek could feel the inside of his wrist flexing against his erection as Stiles' thumb rubbed along the top of his jeans.

"Your body wants to," Stiles said, smiling softly at him. "But I think maybe the rest of you needs time. I keep forgetting how young you are." He laughed a little. "And then remembering at the most awkward times."

"I'm not that young," Derek said, stung. 

"Have you done this a lot before?" Stiles asked, sounding genuinely curious, and not like he'd make fun of Derek for answering truthfully, so that's what he did.

"No," Derek admitted. His face felt uncomfortably hot. He was embarrassed, feeling like a stupid kid again, but Stiles didn't seem bothered. 

"That's okay," he said, giving Derek a reassuring smile. Then he reached up and took his glasses off, and stashed them behind a book on the table next to his bed.

Derek had never seen Stiles without his glasses before. His face looked a little strange without them, but he had nice eyes, and long eyelashes. Derek wanted to kiss him all over his whole face.

"Come here," Stiles said, pulling on Derek's hip until he shifted onto his side and they could twine their legs together. "Kiss me some more."

Relieved he hadn't completely ruined everything, Derek did. They kissed a lot more, actually, and as he relaxed Derek got a little braver. Stiles didn't make a move to do anything but kiss him and touch him over his clothes, running his hands over his chest, gripping the back of Derek's thigh and pulling it over his hip, but he seemed okay with letting Derek do whatever he wanted, and was encouraging, even.

"Mmm, feels good," Stiles breathed into Derek's neck, when Derek worked up the nerve to slip his hand under the back of Stiles' shirt, feel the muscles in his back shift as they moved against each other. Stiles' skin was hot and smooth, and he smelled so good. It made Derek want to put his mouth all over him, lick him everywhere, over and over. He settled for the hollow of his throat, and then the soft skin behind his ear, and when he put his mouth there Stiles arched against him and made a wonderful noise.

Later, when Stiles dropped him off at home, Laura wrinkled her nose at him as he passed through the kitchen to grab a bottle of juice, but didn't say anything, and Derek jerked off in his bed twice before he fell asleep, thinking about Stiles' mouth, Stiles' hands, the way Stiles smiled at him and didn't care that Derek wasn't ready to do more than kiss, and suck on his throat.

Was Stiles his boyfriend now? Derek wasn't sure. But he was sure he wanted him to be.

~*~

The next few days were _glorious._ Derek and Stiles spent every minute they could together, and used the time to kiss and kiss and kiss--on Stiles' bed, on Stiles' couch, on Stiles' living room floor in front of the TV while his dad was in the garage messing around with his power tools. 

They hung out with Stiles' friends again, descending on Jackson's house to watch a movie on the Whittemores' huge television, and when everyone snuggled in as couples, Stiles stretched out on the couch and put his head in Derek's lap. Derek spent the whole movie running his fingers through Stiles' hair, making it stick up even worse. Stiles held his other hand the whole time, rubbing his thumb over Derek's knuckles. Derek was so content that Jackson's inevitable jabs at him barely registered.

Labor Day weekend rolled around, the official end of summer, and a bunch of Stiles' friends had a bonfire picnic on the beach. There were a few people there Derek had never met before, including Danny the camping guy, but they were all friendly and nice. No one seemed to notice or care that Derek was younger, but of course Jackson could be counted on to bring it up.

After all the hot dogs and potato chips had been consumed, Derek leaned back against the big old log they'd dragged over by the fire, Stiles sitting between his legs. It was perfect positioning as far as Derek was concerned, because he could touch him and breathe in the smell of his hair, and run his fingers over Stiles' wrists. He was so happy he barely noticed Jackson and Lydia arriving late, squeezing into a spot on the other side of the fire. That didn't last; if Jackson hated anything, it was not being noticed.

"Subjecting us all to your sick fascination with underage tail again, Stilinski?" Jackson said to Stiles as he opened a beer.

"Fuck off," Stiles said, with a tone that was light, but had just the tiniest edge to it. He had been making a practice of ignoring Jackson's bitchy remarks; maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was just that Stiles had had enough, but he was clearly getting fed up. Derek's stomach started to squirm. He didn't want them to fight, and he really, really didn’t want Stiles to fight with anybody over _him_.

Jackson's mouth quirked, like he was happy he'd gotten a reaction out of Stiles. Derek had a bad feeling that was only going to encourage him. Jackson took a drink of his beer and then pointed at Stiles with the bottle. "What's it feel like to finally be the adult in a relationship? Must be a weird experience for you."

"Says the guy who's still pissed Lydia went to the Winter Formal with me instead of him _in high school_ ," Stiles shot back.

"Ooooh," somebody said under their breath. Jackson's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, just enough to betray that Stiles had landed a blow.

"You were _a nobody_ in high school," Jackson hissed. His eyes were flat and mean. "I was captain of the lacrosse team."

"Co-captain," Derek and Scott said in unison. Derek gave Jackson a cheerless smile when Jackson glared at him. Scott reached over and gave Derek a high five.

"How the hell would you know?" Jackson asked, looking mortally offended Derek had dared insert himself into the exchange, even though it had started off about him.

"He's Kurt's brother," Stiles said, and Derek loved him for not using the descriptor "little" in that sentence.

"I should have known," Jackson said, sounding disgusted. "You look like a Hale." 

"That's right. And I remember you," Derek said. "I remember my brother was captain, until the pigeon thing, and then you and Scott were _co-captains_ for the rest of the season. And I know that _Stiles_ saved the semi-final when you got hurt."

Stiles immediately twisted around to look at Derek. "You know about the semi-final?" he asked, looking pleased. Derek squeezed him and said, "Yeah. You totally won the game."

"Damn straight I did," Stiles said smugly, settling back down.

Derek turned his attention back to Jackson, because he wasn't done with that asshole. "You were the co-captain of a _team_ ," he said. "You didn't do it all by yourself."

That, at least, was something Derek understood, even if he'd never been into sports. The importance of pack and family had been drilled into him since he was old enough to understand the words. An alpha needed a pack just as much as a pack needed an alpha, and no one was stronger alone.

Werewolves tended to be good at team sports because team dynamics were a lot like pack dynamics. Kurt wasn't an alpha, or even a future alpha—everyone agreed the next one would probably be Laura or Henry—but that wasn't as important when dealing with humans. Knowing how to use the pack mentality to your advantage was what counted. Back in his lacrosse days, Kurt had spent a lot of time talking to Mom about how to deal with Jackson, and how to do what was best for the team. Derek hadn't been interested enough to recall the specifics, but he remembered that much.

"Pretty wise words coming from someone who was probably still collecting Pokémon cards back then," Jackson said, smirking, which…was embarrassingly true, actually. Derek held his silence as Jackson took another swig of beer and put his arm around Lydia's waist. Lydia looked bored to death.

"Are you done?" she asked Jackson. "Your fixation on Derek is getting a little tedious."

Before anyone could respond to _that_ , Danny got to his feet. "I think it's time to bust out the marshmallows," he said, dusting sand off his butt. "And hopefully no one will stab anyone else with the sticks."

"Seconded," Scott said immediately, while Stiles moaned, "Ooooh _marshmallows_."

Derek had been assigned the job of providing the S'mores supplies, so he made Stiles get up long enough to grab the stuff from the Jeep, including actual metal roasting sticks, with tines and everything, he'd snagged from the garage. Derek's family had a lot of S'mores experience. It went hand-in-hand with camping.

Even though it had been barely an hour since they finished the hot dogs, everyone dove on the stuff like they hadn't eaten in weeks. There weren't enough sticks to go around, but Derek was happy to take his place against the log again and let Stiles sit between his legs and be in charge of the marshmallow roasting with their shared stick.

Once their marshmallow was done—Stiles was absurdly picky about getting it just right, whereas Derek didn't care if it was burned on one side--Derek introduced Stiles to the wonder that was a S'more made with a peanut butter cup instead of a plain slab of chocolate. Stiles—and a few other people—acted like Derek had just revolutionized the art of junk food. Even Jackson tried one and declared it "all right, I guess."

It certainly wasn't friendly, or even all that nice, but Derek nodded at him anyway, choosing to believe it was an olive branch. Jackson left him alone for the rest of the night, and when they left he said, "Later, Hale," like it was an afterthought, but it was the first time he'd ever referred to Derek by his actual name rather than some mean nickname. 

"That was awesome," Stiles said later, when they were kissing goodbye in the Jeep. For a second Derek thought Stiles was complimenting him on his kissing skills, but then Stiles added, "When you got on Jackson's case. And you totally threw my one moment of lacrosse glory right in his face. You have no idea how freaking awesome that was."

" _You're_ awesome," Derek said, feeling it right down to his bones. It was the closest thing to a declaration of feelings he'd said since this whole thing started. 

He worried Stiles might think it was a dumb thing to say, but Stiles grinned and grinned, which kind of ruined the kissing. Derek didn't mind.

~*~

School started for Derek the Tuesday after Labor Day, and that cut into his free time pretty substantially. No more afternoons at the library, and after school he was busy with his own extracurricular activities or music lessons at the house. By a stroke of luck, one of his clarinet students had reached the point where they needed an actual teacher, not just some kid from the school band, and had moved on. It cut into Derek's income a little, but was a welcome opening in his schedule.

Laura _finally_ left for school, leaving Derek the sole driver of the Volvo, which meant he got to drive to school every day as long as he had the gas money. He picked Isaac up on the way, most days, and sometimes they had time to swing through the drive-thru and get breakfast burritos. It was pretty awesome.

Stiles was still around, because UCLA didn't start until late September, but that was rapidly approaching, and Derek spent every second he could spare with him, getting increasingly sexually frustrated. Stiles seemed to be taking Derek's initial reticence to move beyond kissing that first time a little far. Way too far, actually. So far it could only be seen with the Hubble telescope. 

Stiles' dad wasn't home much, between his job and his hobbies, which meant Derek and Stiles had hour upon unsupervised hour together. It was time Derek thought they could be putting to better use. All they did was make out and grind against each other, which was enjoyable, but making Derek kind of crazy--he hadn't masturbated this much since that memorable winter when his werewolf puberty finally hit. Every time they hung out, he came home and jerked off at least once afterwards, and he assumed Stiles was doing the same, and it seemed pointlessly inefficient that they weren't doing it together.

Their last day together was a Saturday, but Derek had his music students and Stiles had a shift at the library, which didn't leave but a few hours before Derek's curfew kicked in. Luckily, Mr. Stilinski was out that evening with his bowling league. It wasn't ideal, but they'd be alone the whole time, at least. Derek arrived at the Stilinski house feeling determined, and a little desperate. 

"Whoa," Stiles said, eyes wide, when Derek tackled him onto the bed and kissed him, worming his hands up under his ratty cardigan, and his button-down shirt, and the T-shirt he was wearing underneath both of those. His penchant for layers was a little annoying sometimes.

"You're wearing too many clothes," Derek said, closing his teeth on Stiles' earlobe. Derek expected Stiles to be into it--he was always so responsive when Derek touched him—but he went uncharacteristically still instead.

"Hey, hey," Stiles said, fingers snagging Derek's, stopping their upward creep along his ribs. "Don't get me wrong, I'm all for this, but I'm just wondering--do you--why do you want to do this? If it's because you feel like it's our last chance or…?"

Derek eased back a little. "No," he said, sullen, but it was a little scary how easily Stiles seemed to be reading his mind. He pulled his hand out of Stiles' grip and tried not to let on how disappointed he was.

This was the last time they'd do this for months, and possibly—Derek's unspoken fear—forever. Not all relationships survived separation, and Derek wasn't even sure if that was what this was anyway. They'd never put a name on it. 

Stiles had mentioned—casually, more than once--that he was coming back to Beacon Hills over his school breaks, but that wasn't the problem. What Derek didn't know was if Stiles was coming back _to him._ That was a big difference.

And for the last week or so it had constantly been in the back of Derek's mind that Stiles was leaving soon, and was going to be seven hundred miles away for months. Stiles might meet someone else while he was gone, and not be interested in hanging out with Derek when he came back to Beacon Hills next time—this might be the last time Derek could do _anything_ with Stiles. 

"We'll have other chances," Stiles said, like he was reading Derek's mind again. "I'll be back in November." November seemed a lifetime away, but acting like an immature jerk wasn't going to convince Stiles that Derek was the kind of guy who could be a long-term thing, not just a summer fling, so Derek didn't share that thought, just nodded. 

Stiles wasn't fooled. "I mean it. I'm coming back," he whispered, running his fingers through Derek's hair. "And then I'll be home again for Christmas. We'll see each other a lot, I promise." 

"I know," Derek said on a tight swallow. This was the first solid indication Stiles had given that they were going to pick up where they left off when he came home. It eased the knot Derek had been carrying around in his belly, the one that had been twisting tighter and tighter as Stiles' day of departure got closer, until it was nearly unbearable. "I just…"

Derek wasn't sure he wanted to share all the stuff going on in his head, so he let the sentence die.

"It's okay. I get it," Stiles said, smiling before he leaned up to nip at Derek's lower lip. "We should stop talking." 

That was something Derek wholeheartedly agreed with, so he slipped his hand back up under Stiles' shirts and kissed him some more. The skin over his ribs was warm, and he was ticklish, kicking at Derek with his heels when he touched a sensitive spot. After a few minutes, Stiles squirmed out of his sweater, and then Derek helped him get the button-down off. The urgency of the deadline hanging over Derek's head was gone, but the physical urgency had come back with a vengeance. Derek really, really wanted to do something involving their dicks.

Stiles' hands kept wandering up and down Derek's back under his T-shirt, teasing at the waistband of his pants, until Derek tugged his own shirt over his head and tossed it away. When he came back down to kiss Stiles again, Stiles rolled them so they were on their sides and slung his leg over Derek's hip. It was a position Stiles seemed fond of; they'd spent a lot of time like this, rubbing against each other. Derek had nearly come in his own pants once just like this.

One of Stiles' hands was trapped between them, flattened against Derek's chest, his thumb lightly teasing the edge of Derek's nipple. It felt good, and made him want more. It made him want Stiles to touch him in a lot of places he hadn't yet.

"Don't you want to? I really want to," Derek said, rocking his hips, nudging Stiles with his dick. He was so hard, aching in his pants, just the feel of his underwear rubbing the leaking head of his cock making the skin on the backs of his legs prickle.

"I'm trying not to pressure you," Stiles groaned. His leg tightened around Derek's ass as his hips jerked, pressing his erection against Derek's. "I—kinda messed up. That first time."

"You're not pressuring me, I swear. I’m going crazy. I want--" Derek said into Stiles' hot neck.

"Okay, okay," Stiles said shakily. "God, yes, you wouldn't believe how I—" He leaned back enough to reach down between them, and Derek felt Stiles' fingers work at the button on his pants. They fumbled a little, which made Derek feel a little better, that Stiles was affected by this, too. 

When he finally got them open, Stiles shoved Derek's pants down a little, along with his underwear, and Derek shivered as his hot skin was exposed to the cool air. Everything between his legs felt drawn up tight, straining against his body, and he was dying to be touched. 

Stiles didn't make him wait. His fingers skated lightly over Derek's balls, brushing up and up his length before petting the head, a barely there touch, spreading the wetness gathered at the tip. Derek's entire body twitched, and his dick jumped against Stiles' fingers as Stiles teased and teased, touching him with just two fingertips. 

"Oh my God, Stiles," Derek breathed, not caring if he sounded stupid or if his voice caught a little on Stiles' name. 

He looked down and then had to squeeze his eyes shut against a wave of dizziness at the sight of the tight pink head of his cock peeking out from the foreskin, Stiles' fingers moving slowly over it. It felt so good, but it looked even better. Derek sank his teeth into his lower lip and tried to keep his hips from shoving greedily toward Stiles' hand.

"Okay, wait, I need to—" Stiles said then gave up on words as he stopped touching Derek long enough to get his own pants open. Derek tried to focus as he waited, watching Stiles' fingers tremble as he pulled his zipper down, knuckles brushing against the underside of Derek's dick, making it jump. Stiles' cock was thick and veiny, straight as an arrow. Derek liked it immediately.

Stiles hitched forward again until they bumped against each other, and Derek couldn't help the little sound he made at the first touch. It was _heaven._ Hot, soft skin, the wet smell of the both of them, the feel of Stiles so hard and wanting against Derek's own needy body. 

"Put your hand on me," Stiles said, strained, and then he made a little moaning sound, and said, "Fuck," when Derek did as he asked.

Derek had never touched anyone else's dick before, only his own, and Stiles' felt different, without the extra skin, tighter and more fragile. Stiles guided Derek's hand to wrap around them both, his longer fingers curling tight over Derek's and moving up and down, showing him what to do. When Derek picked up a slow, tentative rhythm, Stiles let go and watched for a minute, his mouth hanging open, fingers digging into the meat of Derek's arm. "Fuck, that's good," he panted. 

Derek definitely agreed, but all he could manage was a breathy little pleading sound that was almost Stiles' name. His hand faltered and he lost his coordination, but Stiles' hand was right there again, over his, moving in short, quick strokes.

When he was by himself, Derek liked to draw it out, make it last as long as he could, see how much stimulation he could take, but none of that had prepared him for how this would feel, because when he was alone he couldn't hear and see and smell Stiles. That accelerated things dramatically.

"I can't--," he whimpered, and came all over their hands before he could even finish the thought, pulsing against Stiles' dick, the snug circle of his fingers.

Derek was always super sensitive after he came, and Stiles kept stroking him a little too long, until Derek made a pitiful noise and jerked away. "Sorry, sorry," Stiles breathed. "Can you…?" He brought Derek's hand back to his dick and thrust into it before Derek could even close his fingers all the way. "Fuck, I’m close."

Derek thought that was probably a good thing, because he felt sort of inept. It wasn't like he didn't have any dick experience—he was really experienced with his own—but he didn't know what Stiles liked, and the angle of his hand was all different. He loosened his grip a little to slide his fist up and down, because there wasn't enough loose skin to do it the way he liked to touch himself. Stiles' hips rolled up into the touch, which seemed encouraging, Derek did it again, mimicking the short, fast strokes Stiles had used before, until Stiles gritted out, "I'm gonna come," and then did just that all over Derek's wrist.

"Oh, man. Wow," Stiles said, while Derek hummed in agreement, too blissed out to form words. Stiles' head fell forward onto Derek's shoulder, and his hand kept petting Derek's stomach, heedless of the mess he was spreading all over the place. Derek twined their wet fingers together and held them against his belly. 

They laid there for a while, kissing a little, and talking about nothing, and this was a part of it Derek hadn't thought about or known to look forward to, this quiet closeness, rubbing skin against skin, smelling like each other. Derek felt like his bones were melting, and he was probably being sappy with the way he kept kissing Stiles and holding his sticky hand, but he didn't care. There had been mutual orgasms. He was allowed to be a little clingy. 

The night couldn't last forever, though, and they had to get up eventually. Stiles used the bed sheet to wipe himself and Derek off, a clean-up method Derek did not approve of, but it wasn't his bed so he kept that to himself. When he got up to go to the bathroom he wiped himself down with a wet washcloth and soaped his hands up under the running water. After that they had a chance to cuddle on the bed a bit before it was time for Derek to go home. 

Stiles held his hand as he led him back down the stairs to the front door. It was cooler outside than Derek expected, making him hunch his shoulders when the night air hit the damp neck of his T-shirt. Stiles darted back inside and when he came back out he threw a sweatshirt at Derek's face. "Here," he said. "You can keep it."

It was a red hoodie, one Derek had seen in the back of Stiles' Jeep a time or two. Derek wasn't really that cold, but he put it on anyway. It smelled good, like Stiles had had it a long time, and recently eaten popcorn while wearing it. Once he got it on, Stiles huddled against him and kissed him on the mouth.

"I hate this," Derek confessed, hiding his face in Stiles' neck. 

"I'll be back in two months," Stiles said, smoothing the hair above Derek's ears with his fingers. "It's not forever. We'll text and talk every day. It'll be fine."

"I know," Derek said, because he knew he was supposed to say that, but it wouldn't be the same. They both knew that. There was no way around it, though.

They got caught up in a kiss again, a slow, sad one that they lingered over a little, until Stiles said, "Okay, you really gotta go now, or you're gonna be really, really late."

"Oh, crap," Derek said. He took his phone out of his pocket and then panicked when he saw the time. "Crap!"

"Go. Go. Text me when you get home," Stiles said, kissing the tip of Derek's nose before he gently shoved him away.

"I will," Derek said, and then bit his tongue on the urge to say, _Text me when you wake up tomorrow, and when you get to L.A., and every day until I see you again._

Walking down the steps to the Volvo was harder than Derek thought it would be. Actually, just letting go of Stiles was harder than he thought it would be, especially when he was so warm and close. Stiles hadn't cleaned up very well—he reeked like sex with Derek, and Derek liked it. 

He let go anyway, since that was his only option. Stiles stayed on the stoop as Derek backed the Volvo out of the driveway, and waved to him as he pulled away. Just before he turned the corner, Derek looked in his rearview mirror. Stiles was still standing there, watching him leave. 

Derek was a little bit late getting home, but not much, and he was usually really good about adhering to his curfew, which was probably a refreshing change for his parents after Laura. The house stayed dark and quiet when he crept inside, which Derek hoped meant they were going to cut him a break. 

He washed again, as quickly and quietly as he could, and then shoved his clothes in the hamper in his room, except for Stiles' sweatshirt, which he hung over his desk chair. After he got into bed he sent Stiles the promised text letting him know he was home.

_**Good night**_ , Stiles sent back, followed quickly by a second message that said, _**See you soon**_

_**You better**_ , Derek said, and then added a winky face to make it sound a little more funny and a little less desperate.

Stiles didn't joke back, though. _**I promise**_ , he responded, and sent Derek a picture of himself curled up on his side in bed, smiling sleepily, with his hand pressed flat over his heart.


	5. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Otter for beta reading and encouragement.

**_October_ **

**_The measures of the lengths of the three sides of a triangle are prime numbers. If two of the sides are 5 and 23, what is one possible value for the length of the third side?_ **

The first week or so after Stiles left was actually harder than Derek had thought it would be, which was really saying something. Stiles was _gone_ and it _sucked_. 

Intellectually, Derek knew that, but he seemed to forget it a lot at first. It was so strange to think Stiles wasn't there, in town, and they weren't going to see each other after school or on the weekends. Plus, forgetting Stiles wasn't there meant constantly _remembering_ he wasn't there all over again, which sucked every single time.

Stiles seemed to be suffering just as much, so at least that was something. He texted Derek pretty constantly all day, and on the second night he called, just as Derek was getting ready for bed, and gave Derek an entertaining summary of everything happening down in L.A.

"She must have burned six hundred pounds of incense this summer," Stiles groused. "I knew I shouldn't have sub-let to someone whose email address is moonmother@earthgoddess.com."

"Ew," Derek said sympathetically. He didn't like strong smells, either, but he had a werewolf nose. Incense smelled positively vile to him.

"And she rearranged my bookcase, Derek." Stiles paused as if waiting to make sure he had Derek's attention before delivering the most damning detail: "By _color._ "

Derek didn't follow. "By what?"

"She put the books in order by the color of their covers." Stiles actually sounded more offended by that than the lingering incense stench, but he _was_ a librarian. "Starting with white, ending with black. ROY G BIV in between."

"What sense does that make?" Derek asked, more baffled than offended. He'd never heard of such a thing. Derek's own bookcase was organized by subject matter and then title. It made sense.

"Exactly!" Stiles said triumphantly. "How do you find anything that way? It took me almost an hour to fix it."

"That was probably the first thing you did when you got there," Derek guessed, imagining Stiles' outraged, determined face.

"Well, _yeah,_ " Stiles snorted, and Derek snuggled down further into Stiles' sweatshirt and grinned. They'd never talked on the phone before, always in person or via text message. He liked Stiles' phone voice.

"So how are you?" Stiles asked. "Miss me?"

"Like a rash," Derek teased, and Stiles laughed and said, "Same here."

~*~

Derek did miss him, though. Painfully.

They talked and texted when they could, but it wasn't the same. Derek checked Stiles' Facebook more than was probably healthy, and even began actually updating his, too, though his life wasn't all that exciting. Stiles must have appreciated the effort, because he liked every single one of Derek's updates, without fail, which amused Derek to no end. It was the most activity Derek's account had ever seen; Rebecca refused to use Facebook because she claimed it was full of racists and homophobes.

Stiles mostly seemed to study and work, from what Derek could glean from conversations and Facebook updates. He had a full class load and a job in a library down there, and not much time to go to tons of wild parties or anything. Most of his social life seemed to revolve around his two roommates, though there was the occasional carefree night with a bigger group. Photos popped up on Facebook sometimes, other people tagging Stiles in pictures clearly taken at restaurants or bars, everyone with drinks in their hands and smiles on their faces, but it was rare. 

Derek still had music students, and there was the Robotics Club to keep him busy, plus his own music lessons and his responsibilities at home. With Laura and Kurt gone there was a lot more twin wrangling to be done. Audrey was eleven and mostly self-sufficient, but she was athletic like Kurt, and on what seemed like six different sports teams, so she wasn't around much to help. A lot of the stuff at home fell to Derek.

Isaac had quit two of his jobs now that school was back in session, so he actually had more free time now. Isaac's dad would always be a controlling ass, but Derek and Isaac were used to working around it, so they used the excuse of studying to hang out. It usually worked. 

Stiles called Derek almost every night between ten and eleven, so he got to end the day hearing Stiles' voice, which was nice. They talked about what was going on in their lives, and random stuff, and told funny stories from before they knew each other. Derek looked forward to the time he spent talking to Stiles at night, burrowed down into his bed in Stiles' hoodie, which was his new favorite piece of clothing.

He wore it when he practiced his clarinet, when he worked on his robotics project, when he drove Isaac home after a night of "studying" that looked a lot like playing video games. Sometimes, when he was feeling extra lonely, he wadded it up and used it as a pillow. It was old and a little worn, broken in just right. One of the cuffs had a hole in it perfect for sticking your thumb through, which Derek did often. It was comfortable, and infused with the smell of Stiles, and Derek didn't care if it made him pathetic or weird to get so attached to it. He was lonely.

Stiles was lonely, too. He sent Derek texts that said _I miss your stupid face_ and _only 49 more days!_ , and Derek hung onto Thanksgiving like a talisman, a longed for break from being apart.

It couldn't come soon enough. If Derek had thought he was full of sexual frustration before, it was nothing compared to what it felt like now. Actually having sex with Stiles had only ramped up what was already an annoying level of wanting to do things he couldn't, because now he knew what it was like to be touched by someone else, and he knew what Stiles looked like under his clothes, and what his voice sounded like when he was seconds from orgasm. Derek wanted more of it, all the time. He'd only gotten to experience it once before Stiles left and it was maddening. Masturbating was an even poorer substitute now. Watching porn barely took the edge off.

He missed Stiles a lot when he was alone in his bed at night, muffling his moans in his pillow, wishing it was Stiles touching him.

~*~

Two weeks after Stiles went back to L.A., Kurt came home for the weekend—already, even though it seemed like he'd barely been gone—and they spent some time on Saturday playing in the yard with the twins.

"You're the bunny. You hide and we stalk you," Henry decreed, pointing an imperious finger at Derek. 

"Bunnies!" Violet screeched gleefully. "We're the wolf pack. Rowr!"

"All right," Derek said, knowing it was easier to just follow orders. This was their favorite game, and they weren't allowed to play it in the house anymore, ever since Mom's favorite lamp bit the dust. Even Dad's legendary repair skills hadn't been able to save it.

"So what am I?" Kurt asked, shoving the last bite of a brownie in his mouth. Derek sometimes suspected Kurt came home just to eat.

"You're a dead bunny," Henry decided, and then scampered off with Vi while Derek and Kurt looked on in uncomfortable silence. Henry could be really morbid sometimes.

Being the bunny usually meant hiding under the patio table, or in the garden shed, but today Derek decided to mix it up. There was an old trampoline, springs beaten to death by Kurt and Laura and Derek long before any of the other kids came along, tipped up against the shed. Derek crawled into the sheltered nook underneath it and hunkered down with his hands on his knees, which was his standard bunny posture. Kurt followed, grumbling about the twins being little dictators, and flopped down on his back, arms akimbo, since he was supposed to be dead.

Now there wasn't anything to do but wait. The twins always made a big show of slowly making their way toward their prey, checking every inch of the yard as if they really were hunting—it was all part of the game. Derek and Kurt could be here a long time.

"So. How's _Stiles?_ " Kurt asked meaningfully, giving Derek a sly look, and Derek grinned like an idiot before he could get control of his face. Kurt snorted and shook his head. "You've got it bad, little brother." 

"Dead bunnies don't talk!" Violet yelled from the direction of the swingset. 

"I'm a ghost bunny!" Kurt yelled back, but when he spoke to Derek again he kept his voice down to a whisper, which was probably a good thing, because it reduced the chances Mom or Dad would hear that he asked Derek, "Is he your boyfriend now or what?"

Derek looked down at the dirt between the toes of his sneakers and shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe." He wasn't really sure, himself. "He's in college, so." Despite Stiles' ongoing attentions, Derek often reminded himself that college guys probably didn't want to tie themselves down to a high school kid back home. He'd decided early on to be cool about it—or at least act like he was being cool about it--and Stiles had never said anything except that they'd see each other when he came home, and Derek didn't want to push.

"Huh," Kurt said, scratching his scruffy chin. He appeared to have given up on shaving this semester. "Weitzel said he saw you guys at the beach, looking pretty boyfriendy."

"The, uh, bonfire?" Derek asked darting a nervous glance at Kurt before focusing on the ground again. There was only one other time they'd gone to the beach together—just the two of them and a blanket—and Derek really, really hoped that wasn't what Weitzel had seen. Derek would probably have known if someone else was nearby, but he'd been a little…distracted.

"Yeah, why?" Kurt asked suspiciously.

Derek was saved from having to explain by the ear-shattering racket that erupted from the other side of the yard as the twins rousted what sounded like a squirrel. Elated to have found something besides their boring old brothers, they shrieked with delight as they gave chase, even though there was almost no chance they'd catch it. 

Kurt rolled to a crouch and waddled over to peek around the edge of the shed, checking to make sure they didn't follow it into the Preserve. That was how little werewolves ended up lost and crying; Derek knew that from bitter personal experience.

"They treed it," Kurt said. Derek could hear the squirrel somewhere up high behind them, scolding the kids from the safety of its perch.

"That'll keep 'em busy for a while," Derek said, and it did, for about fifteen minutes or so, while Derek and Kurt talked about _American Horror Story_ , which was rumored to be planning a werewolf season. They both agreed it would probably be maddeningly inaccurate.

Henry and Violet were still focused on the squirrel when the back door opened and Mom stepped outside. Derek could see her from his vantage point, drying her hands on a dish towel, and could tell by her posture she knew exactly where Derek and Kurt were, but she didn't acknowledge them. 

"Lunch time!" she announced. 

This immediately triggered a loud wail from Violet. "But we're hunting bunnies!"

"That's not a bunny," Mom said, eyeing the tree. "That's a squirrel. And they don't taste as good as tuna salad sandwiches and cookies."

"Cookies!" Henry yelled, giving a little fist pump as he dashed past her into the house. 

Violet wasn't so easily swayed, and came along more slowly, dragging her feet. "But I wanna play," she protested.

Mom was having none of it. "You can play later. Right now you have to eat and take a nap, or you'll be ornery all night and I'm in no mood. I made enough for the bunnies, too," she said, glancing toward the trampoline.

"Bunnies don't like tuna salad," Kurt said under his breath, and Derek cracked up.

"Bunnies can make their own lunch then," Mom declared, and shut the door firmly behind her.

"Wanna see if we can find that squirrel?" Derek asked as he crawled out from under the trampoline. It had taken the opportunity to flee, but they could probably track it.

"Yeah, I'll pass," Kurt said , giving Derek the side-eye as he got to his feet and brushed the dead grass out of his hair. Derek had always loved to leap out of trees and flatten unsuspecting older siblings to the ground. Kurt wasn't a fan. "Let's go lift some weights."

"Ugh. No thanks," Derek said. Kurt knew better than to even suggest it. "Not my thing."

Kurt laughed and hooked his arm around Derek's neck, getting him in a headlock. Derek didn't even try to fight back; it would only encourage him. 

"Trust me," Kurt said, dragging Derek along with him toward the house. "You're going to do the long-distance thing, you're gonna have to find something to do to wear yourself out. The frustration will drive you nuts, otherwise." 

~*~

Derek's family had a lot of exercise equipment in the corner of the basement, where they kept all the old baby strollers and a horrible couch from the 1970s that almost made Derek's eyes bleed to look at it. Dad was a workout fiend, and had been as long as Derek could remember, had always had a gym membership. That changed when Kurt suddenly became obsessed with weightlifting during his freshman year. Unfortunately for Kurt, there was no way he could lift enough in a public gym to actually give him a decent workout without raising suspicions. Thus, the Hale basement became a workout room. Until now, it had mostly been Dad and Kurt's domain, with some growing interest from Audrey as she got involved in more and more sports.

Derek was strong and fast and coordinated, and always had been. It wasn't that he wasn't good at sports—even a werewolf who was crappy at sports was better than a lot of humans—but that wasn't his area of interest. He was fit, and had some decent muscles, but it was just from being generally active. He'd never worked at it like Kurt did.

That afternoon, Kurt showed him a few things beyond the basics Derek had already picked up at school. Lifting weights in gym class had always been really boring, because Derek had to act like he wasn't as strong as he was, and it got hard to remember how much he was pretending to be able to lift. It was mostly just a big hassle. But at home, where he didn't have to fake it, he found it was a lot more fun, and he actually got a sense of accomplishment from it, so they spent some time on it the next day, too, and after Kurt went back to school Derek kept doing it on his own.

The first time Dad came downstairs and found Derek doing leg curls, he was visibly surprised, and then visibly pleased. After that, they sometimes worked out together in the evenings. Derek had always been kind of mama's boy—which Laura and Kurt never tired of pointing out—and he enjoyed the novelty of having a thing to bond over with his father. Dad knew a lot of stuff about working out, even more than Kurt, and seemed thrilled to be able to share it with Derek, who was eager to learn more. 

And as much as Derek hated to admit it, Kurt was right—it did help. It filled up some time, and burned off excess energy. It didn't exactly make him any less horny and frustrated, and it certainly didn't make him miss Stiles any less, but it tired him out, and most nights he slept like he'd been knocked unconscious, muscles aching just enough to make him feel like he'd accomplished something.

He gradually added more weight, added new and more difficult exercises Dad taught him, and the muscles in his arms got bigger, and he had to stop wearing his favorite jacket because it was too tight in the shoulders. His stomach, flat and lightly defined to begin with, suddenly developed a few more ridges in it. Somewhere in there he also hit a growth spurt, and all his pants were suddenly too short, and too tight in the thighs.

"I swear, you're growing like a weed," Mom clucked as she supervised Derek's shirt selection process in Target. "Henry, you know the rule. One hand on the cart at all times. And don't give me that look."

"Vi doesn't have a hand on the cart!" Henry said mulishly, and kicked the nearest wheel. Vi and Audrey had been sent off together, holding hands, to fetch some duct tape and Gorilla Glue for Dad.

"If you don't adjust your attitude, you can ride _in_ the cart," Mom threatened. 

"I’m not a _baby_ ," Henry protested, scowling, but he put his hand on the cart.

"Derek, what about this one?" Mom asked, ignoring Henry in favor of pointing out a stack of ringer tees. "You'll look nice in this shade of blue."

"Maybe," Derek said, not ready to commit. He unfolded one and held it up to make sure it didn't have any weird stuff on it. He'd once bought what he'd thought was a plain gray T-shirt that had actually had a stupid logo on it.

"They only had seven bottles of glue," Audrey said, walking up with Vi, who was holding onto Audrey's sweatshirt because Audrey's arms were loaded down with bottles of Gorilla Glue, and one bright orange bag that looked suspiciously like peanut butter cups. Violet had two rolls of duct tape around each of her wrists, like over-sized bracelets.

"I like the purple better," Derek decided, shuffling through the stack of shirts to find a purple one in his—new, larger—size.

"Are we getting candy?" Henry asked, spying the peanut butter cups.

"Only if you keep your hand on the cart," Mom said to Henry, who promptly plastered both hands against the side of the cart like he was about to get frisked. "Get the purple one if you want," she told Derek.

"Or maybe the blue one," Derek said, waffling. His phone chimed and he slid it out of his pocket right away. It was probably Stiles.

"I have to go to the bathroom!" Violet announced as Audrey took the duct tape off her arms and put it in the cart.

"In a minute, honey," Mom said to Vi, and then to Derek, "Get whatever color you want."

Derek nodded but didn't look up from his phone. It was Stiles, wondering, _**Whatcha doin?**_

 _ **Family outing to Target,**_ Derek texted back. This was the kind of breaking news they shared with each other all day long. Other people would probably think it was stupid and pointless, but Derek liked it. It made him feel like they were still part of each other's daily lives. Stiles evidently liked it, too, since he kept doing it. _**Buying shirts and glue.**_

"Are we done? We're gonna miss _American Idol_ ," Audrey said, sounding impatient.

"I want candy!" Henry wailed.

"I have to go to the bathroom!" Violet repeated, loud enough for the entire county to hear. She threw herself dramatically against Mom's legs and clung like a limpet.

"One hand on the cart!" Mom said firmly, nudging Violet toward it. "Derek get off your phone and pick a shirt. We're leaving in three minutes."

"Fine," Derek huffed and grabbed the blue one, then changed his mind again and swapped it for purple.

"Are we ready to go?" Dad asked as he walked up and set a brick of toilet paper in the cart, along with another bag of peanut butter cups. It ran in the family.

 _ **Whole family? Everyone? I bet that's exciting**_ , Stiles texted back. He knew how many siblings Derek had, and had heard stories about the twins.

"Everyone start marching _now_ ," Mom said as Derek tossed his chosen shirt in the cart. "Time's up."

 _ **You have no idea how exciting**_ , Derek replied a few minutes later while they were waiting outside the restroom for Mom and Violet. Henry had his legs wrapped around Derek's waist and was bent over backwards, dangling upside down while he sang the song about werewolves jumping on the bed. Derek had one hand hooked under the waistband of Henry's pants, just in case, while he texted with the other. _**No idea at all.**_

~*~

Two days before he was scheduled to take the PSAT, Derek got a package in the mail from Stiles. It contained a dozen pencils, all of them perfectly sharpened, and a calculator.

There was a note inside, written on the back of a pizza menu that said _Just in case!_ , followed by a winking smiley face.

The calculator was a cheap one, made from pink plastic, the kind of thing you could pick up at the drugstore--obviously not meant to be used on the test, just as part of the joke. Derek put the pencils in his case, though, because you could never be too prepared.

The morning of the test, he woke up early, and was too nervous to eat breakfast, so he threw an orange in his backpack and went off to school after checking three times to make sure he had his calculator and his pencils. At the last second, he threw the calculator from Stiles in his backpack, too.

He was the first one in the classroom, and had just gotten all his stuff out when he got a text from Stiles. 

_**Good luck today. You'll do great.** _

_**Thanks**_ , Derek texted back, and sent him a picture of all the pencils lined up next to both calculators before he turned off his phone and put it in his backpack.

 _ **Think I did pretty good**_ , he told Stiles when it was over. _**Thanks for the pencils.**_

 _ **And the "tutoring"? ;)**_ Stiles replied.

 _ **ESPECIALLY the tutoring**_ , Derek said. _**I think all that one on one attention really helped.**_ It was the closest thing he'd ever sent to a sext and he felt like everyone around him knew it. He jammed his phone back into his pocket and tried to think about gross stuff like cooked eggplant and country music.

The rest of the school day flew by, and when he got home from school, he celebrated by skipping clarinet practice _and_ homework, instead going straight for the Playstation, playing right through until dinner time, which he almost never did, and Mom let him, so she must have felt he deserved it, too. It felt good to be done with the test, get it out of the way. 

Now all he had to worry about was the SAT, but he was giving himself some time off before he started obsessing about _that._

~*~

Derek didn't hear from Stiles much the rest of the week, mostly just quick text exchanges and one short phone call. On Friday, Isaac slept over, and they gorged themselves on Cheetos and _World of Warcraft_. 

They were both asleep, exhausted from too much trash talking and processed cheese powder, when the text alert on Derek's phone woke him up. He fumbled for it, saw it was after two in the morning, and the text was from Stiles.

_**Hey call me if you're up?** _

It was an unusual request, and at a really unusual time. Derek sat up and checked on Isaac, who was crashed out on the floor in Laura's old Barbie sleeping bag. He was still dead to the world, empty Cheetos bag next to his head. Even so, Derek would have to go somewhere else to make a phone call. He wanted to text back and ask if Stiles was okay, but then decided against it. He'd rather be somewhere alone when he got the answer. This seemed ominous.

Trying to tell himself it was probably nothing didn't really help, and Derek's heart was in his throat as he crept down to the TV room, which was as far away from his parents' bedroom as he could get and still be in the house, plus it had a comfy couch. He shoved his bare feet under a blanket and got settled.

"Hi," Stiles said, when he answered his phone. His voice was kind of flat and tired. "Sorry if I woke you up. Or if you were busy with Isaac."

"He's asleep," Derek said, skirting around the fact that he had been, too. "What's going on?" he asked. 

"Nothing," Stiles said glumly. "I couldn't sleep and I wanted to talk to you. I had kind of a shitty week."

"Oh," Derek said. He'd imagined all kinds of nightmare scenarios that would necessitate a 2am phone call, but he hadn't thought that Stiles just wanted to hear his voice. That was kind of sweet, actually, though the reason wasn't. "That sucks. I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

"Anything I can do?" He doubted there was, but it didn't hurt to ask.

"Nah."

Derek wasn't sure if he was supposed to ask, but he figured if Stiles had called him, he probably wanted to talk about it. "Why was your week shitty?"

Stiles sighed. "It's mostly all my fault. I made a dumb mistake at work and got in trouble, and totally blipped on an essay that was due and now the highest I can get on it is a B because it'll be late, and then I had a fight with one of my housemates, and then the Jeep's battery died. And I really miss you. A lot."

"I miss you, too," Derek said. "Sorry I can't be there." This was a part of long-distance relationships he hadn't really thought about until now. He'd been so focused on not being able to do fun things together—including fun things that involved orgasms—that he hadn't considered sometimes you might have a bad day and just need someone to be nice to you and kiss you and make you feel like you weren't a total failure, but that wasn't an option because they weren't there.

"This long-distance thing kind of sucks," Stiles said, sounding frustrated. It was the first time he'd ever voiced that opinion. Usually Derek was the one complaining about it, and Stiles was the one who kept insisting it was no big deal and they'd see each other soon. Derek hadn't realized how comforting that had been, that Stiles had been so accepting of being apart and so willing to tolerate it. Now his whole body went cold at the thought that Stiles might decide it wasn't worth it. That was his greatest fear.

"Hey, we'll see each other soon," he said, fighting to keep his voice calm. That was Stiles' usual response when Derek complained.

"I know," Stiles said. Then he laughed a little. "This is a switch, isn't it? Usually I'm the one saying that." His voice was warm, not quite so defeated sounding, and it made Derek feel better. Maybe just a temporary blip. Didn't mean anything.

"Yeah, it is," Derek agreed, and then talked to Stiles until they were both about to fall asleep on their phones.

"Thanks," Stiles said before he hung up. "For talking to me."

"Any time," Derek said, and meant it. Losing a few hours of sleep was worth it.

When he got back into bed he spent a few minutes thinking about how he'd felt when Stiles had sounded unhappy with the distance between them, and wondered if that was how Stiles felt when Derek whined about it. He didn't act like he was worried Derek would get so fed up he'd just call it quits—which was ludicrous, Derek would never, but he didn't know if Stiles knew that—but that didn't mean it didn't cross Stiles' mind sometimes.

Even the possibility that he'd been unknowingly and unintentionally stressing Stiles out this whole time made it hard to fall asleep, and when he did, he dreamt that he accidentally wolfed out in front of Stiles and scared him away. Which probably wasn’t symbolic _at all._

~*~

Isaac had to work the next morning, so he left right after breakfast. Derek was tired and kind of cranky, feeling residual anxiety from his bad dream, and still brooding a little over whether he'd been making Stiles feel bad all this time by grousing about how inconvenient it was to be apart. Adding to his annoyance was the fact that Laura was back for the weekend _again_. She and Kurt both came home a lot more often than Stiles did, which was so unfair. 

Derek usually dealt with being cranky by avoiding everyone, which was sometimes a challenge with his family. When all else failed, he'd head into the Preserve and climb a tree, but given the choice he preferred to sulk in the comfort of his own home. It was a lot more comfortable, and there were potato chips available. 

Since he still had chores to do anyway, going into the Preserve wasn't an option, so he had to hide in plain sight in the house. He managed it well enough until Laura cornered him after lunch. 

She had just finished mowing the lawn, probably the last time it'd need it until spring. Derek was busy doing the laundry because his parents didn't believe in girl chores and boy chores—everyone had to take turns at everything, though the older kids were allowed to trade with each other to get out of tasks they didn't like. Derek hated mowing, couldn't stand the unrelenting whine of the mower, and the nasty exhaust that stunk up his clothes. He actually really enjoyed doing the laundry, because it was quiet and soothing and he could read while he waited. And it had taken a couple years, but now even handling bras didn't faze him.

"Texting your boyfriend?" Laura asked, devious glint in her eyes, when she saw the phone in Derek's hand. Derek jerked away when she reached for it, because he actually had been texting Stiles and even though it was a purely innocent conversation about Doctor Who, he had no desire to let Laura see it.

"None of your business," he said, which only made her grin evilly at him and make another grab at his phone. Derek put a hand on her face and shoved her away, which only set off a short tussle. Derek was bigger and stronger, but Laura was agile and fought dirty, and she hopped up onto the washer and feinted, tricking him. 

She laughed as she snatched his phone from his hand, and Derek got angry, truly angry, and snarled at her like he hadn't since they were kids fighting over the last Kit Kat. She snarled back, quick as could be, probably not because she was actually angry, too, but because Laura always met a challenge with another challenge. Her eyes sparked at him, and he started to shift--

" _No fangs in the house!_ " Mom yelled from somewhere on the second floor.

Derek retreated a little, letting himself shift back to human, and when Laura blinked her eyes weren't glowing anymore.

"Give it back or I'm telling Mom," Derek said. He didn't care if it made him sound five years old.

"Here you go," Laura said huffily, handing it back to him. "I wasn't going to read your mushy text messages anyway."

He snatched it away and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans, out of sight. "You're a jerk," he said, on principle.

Laura tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him, which never, ever led to anything good, in Derek's experience. "You really like this guy?" she asked. There was nothing taunting about it this time. She sat down on her butt, legs dangling off the edge of the washer, as she waited for him to answer.

There was no sense in trying to hide it from her, and for all they squabbled and mocked, Laura could also be fiercely protective of him. One time in grade school another kid had called Derek a bad word on the playground and Laura had unleashed a verbal tirade on that kid so vicious he never dared to even make eye contact with Derek again. It was probably okay to tell her. "Yes," Derek admitted. 

"I knew it!" Laura crowed. 

Derek turned around and went back to folding towels so she couldn't see him blush. Talking about Stiles with other people always made his face do stupid stuff. "And yes, I know he's older than me," he said, because he was sure she was going to point that out.

"You worried about that?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Maybe. I guess. It's not a lot," Derek said stubbornly. Anyone who was the same age as Kurt couldn't be _that_ old, could they? It wasn't like Stiles was _thirty_ or anything. He turned back around, clutching Henry's Buzz Lightyear bath towel. "Do you think Mom and Dad would…?"

He let the sentence trail off. He didn't know what he wanted to ask. Approve? Tolerate? Flip out?

Laura appeared to actually think about it for a minute, staring at the bottles of laundry soap and fabric softener on the shelf above Derek's head. Derek wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.

"You know, Mom's four years older than Dad," Laura said after a bit, banging her heels on the front of the dryer. Derek had always vaguely known his mother was older than his father, but not by how much. And at their age what difference did it make? They were so old anyway. "And he was still in college when they got married," she added.

"Really? Wow," Derek said, suddenly more interested. He'd always known his parents' marriage wasn't exactly conventional, and this only added to the impression. 

Not only was his dad younger than Mom, he was _human_. And he'd changed his last name when he got married, something completely out of step with the society he lived in, and he hadn't been able to tell anyone the truth of why, because the fact that he was joining a werewolf pack wasn't really something he could admit to, was it? 

Laura was looking eager to dish. "Did you ever hear the story, what happened when Dad asked her to marry him?" she asked.

"No," Derek said. And up until now he hadn't really cared. "What happened?"

"It was a huge deal," Laura said, with obvious relish. "Like, _huge._ Grandpa flipped out and there was a big fight and he threatened to expel Mom from the pack. He thought a future alpha should marry another werewolf."

"Holy shit," Derek said, hopefully low enough that his mother couldn’t hear him over the washing machine. He didn't really remember much about Grandpa Hale, who had died when Derek was just a kid. His memories were mostly just vague impressions of him being big and loud and scary. There was only one picture of Derek with his grandfather, and Derek was red-faced and bawling in it, trying to squirm off his Grandpa's lap. 

Imagining his mother defying him—her alpha!—was an incredible thought.

"Then what happened?" Derek asked, dying to know. He tossed Henry's towel aside so he could scramble up onto the little table where he folded the clothes. He needed to sit down for this. 

Laura pulled her legs up and settled in cross-legged on the washer, elbows on her knees. "Dad went to Grandpa and offered to take the bite."

"No way!" Derek said, in complete disbelief. Dad had always been very open about having no desire to be a werewolf, never sugar-coated it. Both of Derek's parents always spoke frankly about both the plusses and minuses of being a werewolf, and for Dad the minuses—and the risk associated with taking the bite—didn't outweigh the plusses. It was a viewpoint they'd all been taught to respect, from the time they were little. Derek couldn’t have been more shocked to hear his father had once agreed to be bitten. It was unthinkable.

"Yep," Laura said. "He told Grandpa flat out he didn't really want it, and knew it could kill him, but he said if that was the only way he could marry Mom, he'd do it in a second. And Grandpa told him that if he took the bite, he could marry her."

Even though Derek obviously knew the ending to this story—his parents were married, and his dad was still human—he found himself in suspense. He'd never heard any of this, but as the possible future alpha, Laura was probably privy to more of the family secrets than Derek was.

"Mom was so pissed," Laura said knowingly, like she'd actually been there to witness it, which was, of course, impossible. "She argued with Grandpa and told him not to do it, and she argued with Dad and threatened to break up with him. But he showed up at the house for the next full moon, ready to be bitten."

She paused dramatically, letting Derek stew. When they were little she'd always been the one to taunt him with candy held out of his reach, or toss a ball into the tree so he'd have to climb to get it. Now she was doing the same with information. Some things never changed.

"Oh my God, just tell me!" Derek groaned, clenching his fingers around his knees. "Ugh."

Laura leaned back on her hands and said, "Grandpa refused to do it. He said just by showing up Dad had proven he was serious about Mom, and he was welcome in the pack as a human. And that was that. They got married a few months later."

"Wow," Derek breathed. 

"So, you know," Laura said, stretching her leg out to nudge his knee with her sneaker, leaving grass clippings on his pants. "Stiles being a little older and a human probably isn't a huge deal."

That certainly made Derek feel a little better, though he wouldn't actually believe it until he heard those words from his actual parents. Which wasn't going to happen any time soon, because he was not ready for them to find out.

"I didn't know any of that. I thought everyone was so boring," he marveled. He'd had no idea his family history was so scandalous.

"Oh, that's _nothing_ ," Laura said, grinning. "Wait'll I tell you about Uncle Peter."

~*~

 ** _Send me a picture of yourself_** , Stiles texted one afternoon, then, _**NOT NAKED.**_

Derek had to slap his hand over his mouth to muffle the laughter. He would never send a naked picture of himself to anyone, but it was still funny that Stiles had felt compelled to specify that. In all capitals, even.

He texted back _**Why?**_

 ** _Having a contest whose boyfriend is cuter. I know I can win. Send a pic!_** Before Derek could respond, Stiles texted, **_I can't believe I don't have any. Fixing that when I'm home._**

He wasn't sure which part made him smile more—that Stiles had for the first time referred to Derek as his boyfriend, or that he thought Derek was hot enough to win a cute boyfriend contest.

 _ **Okay. Hang on,**_ he sent back.

It took a little longer than he thought, as Derek soon discovered taking a flattering selfie was a lot harder than he'd anticipated. He ducked into the bathroom and held up his camera to the mirror and snapped a photo, and then looked at it and was appalled by how cheesy his grin looked, so he took another where he wasn't smiling and that was worse—he looked like he was angry. Ugh.

His smile in the third one managed to split the difference between complete dork and anger management candidate, but when he looked a little closer he grimaced at his hair—flattened on one side where Henry had pressed his face during a piggyback ride—and he had a smudge of green Crayola marker on his cheek, courtesy of Violet. 

Nothing to do but start over. He washed his face and fixed his hair and managed to smile in a way he thought was reasonably attractive, and it only took about twenty more deleted pictures to get something he didn't hate on sight. He had to avert his eyes to avoid lens flare issues, but that couldn't be helped. After he sent it to Stiles he realized he was wearing his Robotics Club T-shirt, and wished he'd thought to change it, but Stiles seemed to like that Derek could build robots. He didn't think it was hopelessly nerdy, like some people did. Only the top half of the logo was visible anyway--the one he'd settled on was mostly a headshot.

Stiles responded a few minutes later: _**WEEEEEEE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!**_

Derek wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. _Thanks_? Or maybe even _You're welcome_? Both sounded stupid, so he went with, _**Great now you earwormed me.**_

Stiles responded with a picture of his happy, grinning face. It looked like he was at someone's house. There was one of those big cat trees behind him, the kind covered in carpet. 

_**Here you go**_ , the accompanying text said. _**Fair is fair.**_ Stiles didn't know Derek still had the black and white Facebook picture on his phone, plus a few others he'd downloaded from Facebook since, and Derek decided to just keep that information to himself.

He made the new picture the wallpaper on his phone.

~*~

"What about a 3D printer?" Isaac asked, when they were hanging out in Derek's room on a Sunday, brainstorming their next project and working their way through a box of pumpkin spice granola bars. "Then you're making something that you can use to make other stuff. It's useful."

"That's actually a pretty good idea," Derek said, getting kind of excited about it the more he considered it. "I could print robot parts with it!"

"I saw pictures online, some guy printed an entire Avengers-themed chess set," Isaac said, obviously getting into the idea now, too. 

"You don't know how to play chess," Derek pointed out.

"No," Isaac said, shrugging. "But I like the Avengers."

With both them them clearly in agreement that printing whatever they wanted would be really awesome, they dove into Google and came out an hour later with a list of stuff they'd need, and dozens of bookmarks, mostly tutorials on how to build the machine itself, which was going to be Derek's job. Isaac was the digital fabrication guy, and he was already elbows deep in OpenSCAD, planning God knew what.

Derek's phone had dinged a few times while they were researching, and now dinged a few more. He finally picked it up and checked it.

"Is that Rebecca?" Isaac asked, frowning at his screen. "Tell her I said hi."

Derek looked at his phone. "Erm. No," he said. "It's Stiles."

"The librarian?" Isaac asked, looking up from his computer for the first time in forever. "Why is he texting you?"

"He's sort of my boyfriend," Derek admitted, feeling a little terrified about saying it out loud for the first time, like he might jinx it. But Stiles had used that word first, so Derek wasn't jumping the gun.

"Since when? And what do you mean 'sort of'?" Isaac asked, eyebrows climbing.

"He _is_ ," Derek amended. "He _is_ my boyfriend. Sorry I didn't tell you. It happened over the summer." He hadn't seen Isaac all that much between computer camp and the start of the school year, which was when all the getting together stuff had taken place. By the time they were back in school, Derek had been too anxious about the looming long-distance hurdles to really be excited about telling anyone, even Isaac. 

Isaac was a good friend, though. He looked suitably impressed. "Wow. An older man. Way to go, Hale," he said, and raised his hand for a high five. Derek thought high fives were kind of stupid, but he indulged him. "Wait," Isaac said, after they slapped hands, like something was just occurring to him. "Isn't his dad the sheriff?"

"Yep," Derek said, scrolling through the six text messages Stiles had sent him. He was live-texting a trip to Tommy Taco for lunch, complete with pictures.

"Does he know how old you are?" Isaac wondered.

"Stiles?" Derek asked, confused. "Of course he knows."

Isaac threw a granola bar at him. It hit Derek in the nose and landed in his lap. "No, his _dad_ , idiot. Does his dad know how old you are?"

"I think so," Derek said. "But, um." He picked up the granola bar and opened it, took a bite, and tossed it back to Isaac.

"But he doesn't know you're Stiles' boyfriend," Isaac guessed, before he took a bite himself.

"No," Derek said. 

"Do _your_ parents know?" Isaac asked. He had a cheek full of granola bar, like a chipmunk.

Isaac was really zeroing in on all the most uncomfortable questions. "No," Derek confessed. 

"Does _anyone_ know?" Isaac looked a little shocked that Derek was conducting a secret romance with a hot older dude. Derek didn't really blame him; Derek was easily just as surprised, whenever he thought about it that way.

Derek shrugged and picked at a stray thread on the cuff of Stiles' sweatshirt.. "You and Rebecca. Stiles' friends, I guess. It's not that big a deal. It's not like he's really old. He isn't thirty or anything."

"I guess," Isaac agreed. "And lots of people at school have boyfriends and girlfriends who are in college."

That was true, though Derek couldn't think of anyone offhand who was dealing with such a big age difference. He supposed he and Stiles couldn't be the only ones. It was statistically unlikely.

"Well, don't worry," Isaac said, tossing the empty wrapper off to the side before settling back down with his laptop. "It won't cost too much to buy my silence."

"Thanks," Derek said. "I'm touched."

~*~

Halloween came along on the heels of a cold snap, which didn't deter the twins at all--Henry and Violet _loved_ anything that involved candy. Last year, during a trip to Vegas for a regional werewolf gathering, Derek's dad had taken them to the M &M store on the Strip. Henry had taken one look at the entire wall of M&Ms in every color of the rainbow and promptly been so overcome he'd burst into tears.

Beacon Hills didn't have an M&M store, but every Halloween it had a haunted house, and a spooky maze set up by a rent-a-hedge company, and people in costumes handing out candy to anyone who wanted some. All of this took place in the park, which was where Derek was at the moment, shepherding the twins carefully through the crowd with their trick-or-treat bags. They'd gone through the maze before collecting their candy, because Henry and excitement and chocolate didn't always mix. Derek was still a little worried about the drive home, and the integrity of the car's upholstery. 

Violet was dressed as a hockey player for the second year in a row. Henry had opted to be a velociraptor; Derek suspected mostly because he thought it gave him an excuse to bite people, a notion Derek had disabused him of almost immediately. They were pretty much done with everything, just killing time while Audrey went through the haunted house with Mom and Dad. The twins were too young for it, and Derek had willingly skipped it—most of the volunteers were easily recognizable as kids from his school, which took a lot of the terror out of it.

The line for the haunted house looked like it contained everyone in Beacon Hills, so it was probably going to be a while yet, and Derek was ready to take a break. The twins' trick-or-treat bags were bulging; Violet could barely manage hers and her hockey stick at the same time. Derek led them over to an empty patch of grass and got them settled, then sat down himself, leaning back on his elbows. He liked to people watch, especially during Halloween, and the twins were already tired of walking. 

Isaac wandered up after a few minutes and took a seat on the grass next to them and joined Derek in people watching, occasionally waving to people they knew. Violet was methodically sorting through her loot and handing Derek anything she didn't like, which wasn't much. Mostly Jolly Ranchers and the colored Tootsie Rolls. Henry was sacked out across the top of his candy bag like a lion guarding its kill.

Derek took a picture of him and texted it to Stiles, who responded right away. _**Awwww. Looks like Halloween is a success.**_ Stiles was working, and then going to a party later. He'd bounced a few costume ideas off of Derek during their bedtime phone calls before settling on the Eleventh Doctor. _**I'd rather be there than go to this party,**_ he added, though he'd been pretty excited about his costume.

Right then, sitting in the park on Halloween watching Violet sort her candy like it was a matter of national security, Derek wanted Stiles around in a completely different way. He didn't just want him back in Beacon Hills--he wanted Stiles _here_ , with his family and Isaac, doing all the stuff they normally did, but with Stiles along. Right now it was impossible for a lot of reasons, but maybe someday they could make that happen.

 _ **I'd rather you were here, too,**_ Derek texted back. 

_**Soon**_ , Stiles said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * This chapter is subtitled "In which DD learns a very valuable lesson in the difficulty of advancing a relationship when one half of the couple is offscreen the entire time!" 
>   * Forever ago someone mentioned Stiles would probably give Derek a pencil for his PSAT but I can't find the comment or ask or whatever it was. Anyway, here you go, lovely person! 
>   * The song Henry sings in Target is the werewolf version of [Five Little Monkeys.](http://bussongs.com/songs/5-little-monkeys-jumping-on-the-bed.php)
>   * I know there was another thing but I can't remember what it was, so...placeholder.
> 



	6. November

**_November_ **

**_The practice of storytelling for entertainment and instruction was at one time so widespread that it was virtually ---- ._ **

**_(A) rigorous_ **  
**_(B) universal_ **  
**_(C) elevating_ **  
**_(D) uncommon_ **  
**_(E) unknown_ **

Derek's seventeenth birthday, which fell on a Friday, was something he'd been anxiously awaiting for what felt like an eternity, because for a few short months the age difference between him and Stiles was one year less. Derek was still underage, and in the spring Stiles would have his own birthday and they'd be right back where they started, but whatever. Derek was finally seventeen, which he thought sounded a lot older than sixteen.

He woke up earlier than usual, too excited about the coming weekend to sleep, so he was already brushing his teeth when Rebecca sent him a text message, the first to wish him a happy birthday. There was a ThinkGeek gift certificate waiting in his email account from her, too. The twins were next, barreling into his room as he was getting dressed, each towing a balloon on a string and shrieking that it was his birthday and they were having pancakes and Derek needed to get up already because they were _starving_.

"Nobody gets breakfast until they're dressed," Derek reminded them, eyeing Henry's pajamas. Violet was already in her clothes, though she was wearing two different shoes. Henry took off like a shot. Nothing motivated him like the threat of missing out on syrup.

"Happy birthday!" Violet shouted, proffering the balloon in her hand so forcefully that it hit Derek in the face. "We helped Mom buy balloons!"

Once he got it far enough away from his eyes that he could actually look at it, Derek had no doubt Violet had picked it out herself—it had a Disney princess on it.

Stiles called while Derek was sitting patiently, letting Violet tie her balloon around his wrist, which was taking forever and involved so many clumsy knots he was going to have to cut it off. Stiles was waiting in line at the coffee shop before heading to work, so he and Derek talked for a bit, until finally Violet was satisfied with her handiwork and trotted off in pursuit of Henry and the remaining balloon. By then the conversation had devolved into which was the better accompaniment for pancakes--sausage or bacon--and they got so wrapped up in debating it that they lost track of time and Stiles had to hang up before Derek opened his gift.

"Have a good day. Don't break a hip," Stiles said. No matter how big of a rush he was in, he always had time to be a wiseass.

"You're hilarious," Derek told him, and the last thing he heard before he hung up was Stiles cackling like the Joker.

Derek's present from Stiles had arrived in the mail two days ago and been sitting on his desk ever since, eliciting a lot of interest from the twins, who couldn't understand how he could bear to leave it unopened. He almost called them back into his room so they could help him open it, but then thought better of it. He didn't want to end up with balloons tied to both wrists.

He used his X-Acto knife to carefully slit open the big manila envelope, and pulled out what felt like a book, though it was covered in an almost absurd amount of protective packaging. Derek carefully peeled off all three layers of bubble wrap and hid it in his desk drawer—he could use it later as a good behavior bribe for the twins. They were nuts about the stuff.

It _was_ a book—big surprise there. A big, beautiful book on the history of robotics. 

_**It's awesome! Thank you!**_ he texted, before he even cracked it open. He already knew it was going to be _perfect._

_**Cool. Happy birthday!**_ Stiles texted back.

_**You're not supposed to be texting!**_ Derek scolded. There was a rule.

Stiles' response was almost instantaneous: _**I'm hiding in the bathroom ;)**_

Not wanting to tempt Stiles any further into delinquency, Derek put his phone aside and started paging through the book, but the balloon kept bopping around and getting in the way. Finally he gave up and sprawled belly down on the bed, letting the balloon float above him while he read. Just the chapter titles alone were exciting.

Even better, Stiles had written an inscription on the inside flap. It said "To the cutest nerd I know," followed by Stiles' scrawling signature and then a _heart_. When he saw it, Derek's dignity instantly departed for places unknown and he mashed his face down into his pillow and made a noise that sounded humiliatingly close to a squeal.

He'd only been seventeen for a few hours—a lapse of maturity here and there was to be expected.

Derek had just barely regained his composure when Isaac came wandering in from the guest room, looking half-asleep, to wish him a happy birthday. Mr. Lahey was elk hunting in Montana and didn't trust Isaac at home by himself, so he was staying with Derek's family for the week. Isaac and Derek were ecstatic about it, and it was even better that it fell over Derek's birthday. Isaac glanced at the balloon but didn't ask; he'd spent a lot of time at Derek's house over the years.

"Here you go," Isaac said, tossing Derek a cardboard box with the Amazon.com logo on the side. Derek used the X-Acto to open that one, too, and found inside a USB hub with _twenty-four ports_. 

"Holy crap," Derek said. He'd been meaning to buy a new port hub for himself for a few weeks, ever since his other one died, but he hadn't even dreamed of getting such a big one. It had to cost fifty bucks, at least, and poor Isaac had spent most of his summer working like a dog just so he could go to computer camp. Derek felt a little guilty about being the recipient of such a pricey gift. "You didn't have to spend so much on me," he protested.

Isaac shifted awkwardly, rubbing one bare foot on top of the other. "You drive me to school every day and never ask for gas money," he said, shrugging. "Plus your parents let me stay here a lot." 

What he wasn't saying was that this was a place he could come to get away from his father, but they both knew what he meant. They didn't talk about Isaac's home situation very much, by Isaac's choice. 

"It's no big deal," Derek said. Isaac was always welcome here; both Derek and his parents felt that way. Isaac's family—what was left of it—pretty much sucked, so Derek didn't mind sharing his. He looked down at the port hub, turning it over in his hands. The princess balloon swayed back and forth above his head. "Thanks for this."

"I figured you'd need it, because of all the stuff we're working on," Isaac said, gesturing toward Derek's desk, where the printer was nearly complete. "So it's kind of a selfish gift."

"In that case, thanks for nothing," Derek said, going along with it. "Hey, you wanna see what Stiles sent me?" he asked, because now seemed like a really good time to change the subject.

"Wow, cool," Isaac said, impressed, when Derek showed him the book, now open to a page closer to the middle. "He got you a good gift." He said it like he was surprised by that—either because Stiles was a librarian, or because he was older—but Isaac didn't know Stiles like Derek did, so that was understandable.

"Yeah, he did," Derek said, trying not to sound too much like a lovestruck dork. Stiles hadn't ever given him a present before, except for the stuff he'd sent before the PSAT, which was just a joke, so Derek was thrilled both with the book and the thought that Stiles had obviously put into it, not to mention the inscription. Derek's boyfriend was _the best boyfriend ever._

Derek looked at the book some more while Isaac showered, and then finally made his way downstairs, the balloon trailing behind him.

Breakfast during the school year tended to be the most chaotic meal of all in the Hale household, everyone rushing around and trying to find overdue permission slips and misplaced text books while dealing with Violet's spilled milk and Henry's fixation on the jam jar. This morning was no different, except there was a single candle stuck in Derek's stack of pancakes, ringed with a circle of whipped cream and dotted with colored sprinkles. Mom was the kind of parent who went all-out for birthdays, not always with the desired results. Derek still carried the emotional scars from the year the magician she hired for Laura's party unexpectedly arrived dressed as a clown. 

Also different today: Derek had the added challenge of trying to eat with a balloon tied to his wrist.

Before he and Isaac left for school—without the balloon, which Violet was apparently never going to forgive him for--Derek's parents gave him the best birthday gift of all: a card with a hundred bucks inside and a note informing him he now had an extra hour on his curfew. It didn't mean much at the moment, since Isaac was the only person Derek hung out with regularly, and his curfew was still 11pm, but once Stiles was back in town that extra hour would mean a lot. He took a picture of the card and sent it to Stiles, along with a smiley face. 

Stiles' response—presumably sent from the bathroom—was a series of exclamation points.

~*~

That night the whole family plus Isaac went out for sushi, which was Derek's favorite thing. Afterwards, there was cake back at home, and then Derek and Isaac went out on their own for a while to play some skeeball. With Isaac's dad out of cellphone range and none the wiser, they got to test out Derek's new, later curfew; they used the extra hour to get hot fudge sundaes at the diner.

All in all, a pretty good birthday, and there was still more to come the next day. 

Derek had rescheduled all his Saturday music students—Henry and Violet had been granted a waiver—so he got to sleep in, and then laze around in his pajamas eating leftover cake with Isaac while they watched crappy movies on cable with all the swear words cut out. He didn't even get in the shower until almost noon, and that was only because he had to for social reasons. Erica and Vernon—who had recently decided he wanted to go by his last name now, which was Boyd—were driving up from Fort Bragg for the day.

It wasn’t the first time they'd all hung out together outside of computer camp, but it was the first time they'd been able to do so without someone's parents playing chauffeur. Erica had her own car now, as a reward for ten consecutive years of straight A's: a vintage red Mustang. Derek and Isaac had seen pictures of it, and it looked pretty sweet. 

Those pics were nothing compared to how it sounded, a pure muscle car rumble that made Derek's chest vibrate as the Mustang crunched up the driveway. Kurt would have been in heaven. 

Isaac and Derek came out of the house to meet them and check out the car, but were brought up short when they saw Erica unfold herself out of the Mustang in a leopard print skirt and a low-cut top that—wow. Had Erica always been that…curvy? Had her hair always looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine? In his peripheral vision, Derek could see Isaac's eyes darting from Erica to Derek and back again, like _Holy shit, are you seeing this?_

Derek was definitely seeing it.

Boyd got out of the car looking like the smuggest bastard on the planet, and rightfully so. 

"Happy birthday, loser," Erica said, flicking Derek in the head with her finger in lieu of a hug. "You finish that printer yet?"

They hadn't finished it, but they were really close, planning to get the rest done and do a test print tomorrow, so after Erica showed them her car they all tromped upstairs to see the printer. Derek also let them look at the book Stiles had given him.

Erica was the one who spied the inscription. "Is this the guy you wouldn't shut up about at camp?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at Derek. Derek thought that was an unfair statement—he'd only talked about Stiles a fraction of the times he'd thought about him that week. They'd gotten off easy.

"Oh, yeah! Derek has a boyfriend now," Isaac said, reclining on Derek's bed as he tossed a pair of wire cutters back and forth between his hands. He seemed to be enjoying the fact that he had inside information. "He's old."

"What, like thirty?" Boyd asked. He'd been hunched over Derek's desk, examining the wiring on the extruder, but now he straightened up and gave Derek his full attention. 

"No," Derek scowled, trying to grab the book back from Erica, who whipped it behind her back and smirked at him. Sometimes Derek didn't know why he bothered having girls for friends; it was only slightly less annoying than having sisters. "He's twenty-one. That's not that old."

"Where is he? Is he coming today?" Erica asked, looking a little too keen on the idea for Derek's comfort.

"No," Derek said, making another half-hearted attempt to get the book back, which she easily avoided. "He's away at school. He goes to UCLA ."

"Really," Erica said, with a definite air of skepticism. She turned her attention on Isaac. "Do you know this guy?" she asked. When Derek reached for the book again, she absently held it out and let him take it. Derek grabbed it and shoved it in his desk drawer. "I’m not falling for some Canadian girlfriend crap. Have you seen him?"

"What?" Derek asked. Canadian girlfriend?

"No," Isaac said, then, "Yeah. Sort of?"

Boyd snorted a laugh. "Which is it, Lahey?"

"He's not Canadian," Derek said, but everyone ignored him. "You guys, he's not—"

"I know who he is, but I haven't seen him in a couple years. He went to our high school. He was on the lacrosse team with Kurt and Camden," Isaac said. 

Derek's protests died on this tongue, a victim of complete surprise. Isaac almost never mentioned his brother.

"Huh," Erica said, giving Derek an approving look. "Way to go, Derek." 

"Thanks," Derek said, uncomfortable. "We should get going." He didn't really mind talking about Stiles, but he'd rather not do it within earshot of his mother.

"Yeah, let's go. I'm starving," Boyd said, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his neck. Now that Derek wasn't so distracted by how Erica looked, he noticed that Boyd had changed, too. He'd cut off almost all his hair, and was taller than Erica now. It was hard to believe they were the same people Derek had seen just a few months ago at camp.

They piled into Erica's car and went out for sushi—again, because it was Derek's birthday and he could do what he wanted—and Derek talked about Stiles a little while they waited for their food, because Erica was curious to know how they met and stuff. Isaac already knew some of it, but not all, so Derek told them about the library, and some of the things they'd done with Stiles' friends, like mini golf and the Memorial Day bonfire—with all the bits where Jackson Whittemore had picked on him selectively edited out—and Stiles sending him that PSAT care package. 

Recapping it all, Derek realized he and Stiles already had a lot of cool memories and inside jokes, and stupid stuff to tease each other about. They had _history_. Months of it, even. It made him feel pretty good, like they really were a couple, even though Stiles was so far away now. 

"You left out the best part," Isaac said to Derek. He looked over at Erica and Boyd. "His parents don't know." 

Derek saw Boyd's eyebrows lift dramatically. 

" _You're_ sneaking around behind your parents' backs with a guy?" Erica asked, looking at Derek like he'd just grown a second head. "Wow."

"That's what I said," Isaac told her.

Well, now it was unanimous. The fact that Stiles was older than Derek was mildly interesting, but what really tipped it over into scandal territory was that Derek was keeping it a secret from his parents--Derek was a known rule follower. One time in kindergarten he'd practically had a nervous breakdown when one of the girls who shared his table stashed a couple crayons in her lunch box and warned Derek that he better not tell. Derek hadn't even made it through recess before he'd tearfully confessed to the teacher what he'd witnessed.

He'd obviously relaxed a little since then—every kid eventually realized there was a lot of wiggle room between following the rules and following every rule exactly—but even still, this was a pretty big departure for him.

And Derek's friends didn’t even know the half of it, because they weren't aware of how hard it was to keep something a secret from your mother when she had a superior sense of smell and could literally hear it when you lied. Derek felt he deserved a lot of credit for being so stealthy, but no one would ever truly know.

"This is actually kind of a relief," Boyd said. "Now we know he's an actual teenager and not some creepy Stepford kid who never does anything wrong."

"I know right?" Erica agreed, grinning as she punched Boyd in the shoulder. 

"I'm not that bad," Derek protested, throwing the wrapper from his chopsticks at Boyd. He wasn't some total Goody Two-Shoes. 

"You're the only person I know who actually passed that test they gave us in grade school where the first instruction was to read all the steps before doing anything else," Isaac said. He leaned across the table toward Erica and Boyd and explained, "The last step was to put your pencil down and not actually do any of the other stuff on the test. Everyone else in the class screwed it up."

Erica literally gasped. "We did that, too," she said, pointing at Isaac. "No one in my class did it right."

"Same," Boyd said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Derek a look that dared him to disagree with them now.

"Okay, I get it," Derek said, admitting defeat. So maybe he was a little bit of a Goody Two-Shoes. There were worse things to be pigeon-holed as, he supposed. 

Everyone had their own stuff to talk about, though, and they all had the typical teenager attention span, so the conversation moved on really quickly once Derek accepted his fate and stopped arguing. Boyd was on track to graduate early, Erica had already been accepted to a month-long summer program for girls interested in computer science, and Isaac had done some paid 3D CAD work that looked like it might lead to more. All in all, Derek was looking like the slacker of the group. It didn't take long for someone to point that out.

"I was busy!" Derek protested.

"Yeah, busy gettin' some at the library," Erica said gleefully.

"Hey, you can put that down as 'life experience' on your college applications," Boyd smirked while snatching a segment of octopus tentacle off the platter. 

"'Extensive hands-on experience in the field of library science,'" Isaac said, making air quotes with his fingers. "'Consistent record of forging strong relationships in a work environment.'" He grinned at his own wit before reaching for the last tempura shrimp. Derek feinted stabbing him in the hand with his chopsticks, but Isaac didn't even flinch.

"You guys suck," Derek grumbled, but he didn't really mind the teasing. It was always like this when they saw each other, even though that only happened a few times a year. It didn't matter if it was days or weeks or months between, they always picked right up where they'd left off, which usually meant merciless ribbing. 

Once they demolished all the sushi, they went to the diner with the good hot fudge sundaes, where Derek and Boyd talked about lifting weights while Erica and Isaac argued the pros and cons of coding with PHP. After everyone finished their ice cream, Isaac wanted to take a selfie together, so they all crowded into one side of the booth and Boyd, who had the longest arms out of all of them, snapped a picture. 

He sent it to everyone's phones, and then they all sat and ignored each other while they posted it to their social media accounts. Erica and Isaac were on just about every site, followed each other on all of them, but Derek didn't use anything but Facebook, and he only did that because of Stiles.

"Ugh, Facebook?" Erica said, wrinkling her nose when Derek explained. "He really is old."

~*~

The following Wednesday, Isaac and Derek stopped at a coffee shop on the way home from school to do some more printer brainstorming—Mark I was now up and running, but they already had ideas for how to improve it. Isaac ordered his drink first, some kind of complicated coffee thing, and then headed for the bathroom while Derek got an apple cider with a shot of caramel and grabbed a table near the window. He'd just turned on his laptop and opened his file of printer notes when someone walked up and stood across the table from him but didn't sit, so it wasn't Isaac. When the person didn't say anything Derek looked up, right into the face of Sheriff Stilinski.

"Hi, Derek," he said, smiling. He was holding a large coffee in his hand, and a raspberry scone in the other. Derek knew for a fact that Stiles did not want his dad eating raspberry scones, or any other kind of pastry. He jerked his eyes away from it, back to Mr. Stilinski's face, and pretended he hadn't seen it.

"Hi," Derek said, and smiled back, a little nervously.

"Mind if I sit for a minute?" Stiles' dad said, and then sat down before Derek could answer. He stretched his legs out and took a bite of his scone, then a sip of his coffee. "How have you been?"

"Good," Derek said. There was something off, some kind of weird vibe, and Derek didn't know why. Mr. Stilinski was in his work uniform, but Derek had seen him in it before, so that wasn't what was unnerving him. Maybe it was because they'd never talked like this, just the two of them, without Stiles somewhere in the vicinity.

"Stiles says you just had a birthday," Mr. Stilinski said, and Derek struggled to make himself not grin dopily over the fact that Stile was talking to his dad about him. "Happy birthday," he said, raising his coffee cup in a toast before taking a drink.

"Thank you," Derek said.

"So how old are you now?" Stiles' dad asked casually, and suddenly every warning system in Derek's brain lit up and started blinking **DANGER DANGER DANGER.**

"I'm, um. Seventeen, sir," Derek said, resorting to formality out of pure, unadulterated fear.

Stiles' dad nodded like he'd already known that but just wanted to hear Derek say it out loud, then squinted at Derek as he tapped his fingers on the table next to his scone. His body language was still completely relaxed, and when Derek checked, his heart was steady. He wasn't angry, or even upset, but something was not right, and Derek had a bad feeling he knew what. Every kid knew when a parent—even if it wasn't their own parent—was about to drop the hammer.

And drop the hammer he did.

"You know," Mr. Stilinski said, "Stiles has always thought he's getting away with stuff, but I know more than he thinks I do. About a lot of things." He took another sip of his coffee and stared out the window.

Derek froze like a terrified bunny. Did Mr. Stilinski know or suspect that Stiles and Derek were more than friends? Had he known all this time and never said anything until now when Stiles wasn't even here and Derek was left by himself to face an adult who was someone else's parent _and the sheriff?_ Were they completely busted? Should Derek try to deny it? 

Derek had no idea what the answers to any of those questions were, because his brain had stopped producing any kind of helpful thought process at all. The inside of his head was basically one long primal scream.

"The thing is, Derek, sometimes as a parent you have to pick your battles," Stiles' dad continued. "You have to think about the situation, and ask yourself, who is it hurting? Is it hurting your kid? Is it hurting someone else?"

He looked directly at Derek then, and there was no doubt at all that he knew. He absolutely knew, and had probably known all along. Derek could only imagine what his own face looked like. His eyes were probably as big as dinner plates. 

Derek wanted to open his mouth and say he would never, ever hurt Stiles, and Stiles would never, ever hurt him. He wanted to tell Mr. Stilinski how much he missed Stiles every day, and how much more he'd miss him if he couldn't see him again at all for an entire year, until he turned eighteen. The problem was, he couldn’t seem to remember how to talk.

Over Mr. Stilinski's shoulder, Derek saw Isaac finally come out of the bathroom and head toward the counter to get his coffee, which was already waiting for him. He picked it up, turned around, took one look at Derek sitting with the sheriff, then walked straight to a different table and took a seat, avoiding Derek's eyes. 

"Sometimes your kid'll do things that maybe don't seem like the best idea," Mr. Stilinski went on. Derek jerked his attention away from Isaac. "But if people never did anything foolish or risky in their lives, they'd never learn anything. And it'd be a pretty boring life, besides. Sometimes risky or foolish things are worth it."

"Yeah, they are," Derek said, having finally found his voice. Stiles was absolutely worth it, to him. And so far he was worth it to Stiles, for which he was grateful.

"I also know that Stiles has a good heart, and he seems pretty fond of you." Derek nodded. Whether he was confirming or agreeing, he didn't know. It just seemed like the thing to do. "The problem is, Derek, not all parents feel like I do."

Derek's heart sank as realization set in. This talk wasn't about Stiles' dad. It was about _Derek's parents._

Mr. Stilinski took another bite of his scone and washed it down with some more coffee while Derek tried not to collapse into despair.

"Now, I would say that it's not my job to get involved with how other people raise their kids, but that wouldn't be true, because sometimes it is. Sometimes I have to sit down with someone and tell them what their kid did. It's not a part of my job I enjoy." His walkie talkie squawked, and he reached to turn the volume down before he continued. "In fact, I've already done that with your parents," he said

Derek panicked—just flat-out panicked—for a second. He imagined Stiles' dad pulling up to the house in his official sheriff vehicle, climbing the porch in his official sheriff boots. He imagined him knocking on the door and asking to come inside, sitting down at the kitchen table across from Derek's parents and breaking the news that his adult kid was boning their teenaged son. Everything about that entire scenario was horrible. Everything.

And if that had really happened—maybe this afternoon, while Derek was at the Robotics Club meeting—then when he got home he was going to have to face his parents and--

Derek briefly contemplated the feasibility of living in the woods until he turned eighteen. It was only fifty-one weeks.

"What did you, um, tell them?" Derek asked, not sure how much detail he wanted.

Mr. Stilinski lifted an eyebrow. "About your brother and those pigeons," he said. "It was a few years ago, but I still remember what a mess that was. You said I should have thrown the book at him, remember?"

Derek practically sagged off his chair in relief. He was talking about the thing years ago with _Kurt._

"They're nice people, and they handled it well," Stiles' dad went on, nodding like he was satisfied with how that conversation had gone, even after all this time. He took the final bite of his scone and washed it down with more coffee before he went on. "They're raising good kids, all of you. But my point is this wouldn't be the first time Stiles led one of the Hale boys astray."

"I don't—" Derek started to say, confused. What did that mean, astray? Was he saying Stiles and Kurt had dated? Derek's stomach churned at the very thought. "What?" he asked, feeling stupid.

"The _pigeons_ ," Stiles' dad said, sounding a little amused by Derek's inability to parse the conversation for more than ten seconds at a time. "That was Stiles. You didn't know that?" he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Derek.

" _No_ ," Derek said. "But how—Kurt was the one—"

"Who got caught," Stiles' dad said. "But he didn't plan it. No offense to your brother, but he's not nearly bright enough or sneaky enough to pull something like that off. The planning that went into it—even just getting the pigeons--had Stiles written all over it. And he's the one who's usually smart enough to not get caught." He gave Derek a wry, close-lipped smile. "Believe me, I've spent twenty-odd years trying to stay one step ahead of him."

Derek was stunned. He'd had no idea, not the slightest inkling, that Stiles had been the mastermind behind the pigeon incident, which was still talked about at BHHS to this day, and widely regarded as the most ingenious prank ever pulled off in the school's history, one that would probably never be topped. All this time Derek had thought Kurt never bragged about it because he'd gotten caught, and had missed out on the rest of the lacrosse season because of it. He'd never imagined it was really because it hadn't been his idea in the first place.

"I give your brother points for loyalty though," Mr. Stilinski said. "He accepted his punishment, even though it meant losing captain, and he never ratted any of the others out."

That part wasn't at all surprising to Derek. If anyone in the family respected the bro code, it was Kurt.

"No one pointed so much as one finger at Stiles, but I know he was involved," Stiles' dad said. "That whole thing had his fingerprints all over it, figuratively speaking, but he was cool as a cucumber, never did or said one thing that would point towards him, never tried to take the credit for it, no matter how hilarious it was. He thinks he got away with it, and in one sense he did." He leaned forward a little and looked Derek straight in the eye. "But he didn't fool me."

Derek gulped and nodded, not sure who to be more afraid of right now, Stiles or his dad.

Mr. Stilinski slapped his hands down on the table top, making Derek jump in his seat, and then pushed his chair back and stood up. It felt like he was towering over Derek, even though he wasn't exceptionally tall. "My point is, sometimes parents know more than you think they do, and everyone just pretends to be clueless. Works for a lot of situations. But sometimes it's more pleasant for everyone if you're honest." 

He stared at Derek until Derek figured out he was waiting for a response. "Right. Yeah," Derek said, nodding.

"You have a good day, Derek," Mr. Stilinski said, clapping Derek on the shoulder. He smiled at him as he picked up his coffee. "Tell Stiles I said hi, and remind him Thursday is his Great-Aunt Norma's birthday."

"Will do," Derek said weakly.

Stiles' dad looked over at Isaac, who immediately became fascinated with this coffee cup. "You can come on over, Mr. Lahey. It's safe now." Then he turned and walked out.

"Holy shit," Isaac hissed, sliding into the seat vacated by Mr. Stilinski. "You looked like he was threatening to arrest you. I thought for sure he was going to haul you out of here in handcuffs."

"Nah," Derek said, with a bravado he didn't quite feel. "It was fine. Just talking."

"Sure," Isaac snorted. "That's why you looked thirty seconds away from peeing your pants."

"More like ten seconds," Derek admitted, letting out a shaky breath.

~*~

As soon as Derek got home he sprinted up to his room, locked himself in, and texted Stiles.

**_Call me as soon as you can_** , he typed out, and then nearly dropped his phone when it rang almost immediately.

"What's wrong?" Stiles voice was hushed and worried, and Derek wondered briefly where he was, and if he was breaking the rules by using his phone there. The library? "Derek?"

"Your dad knows," Derek blurted. "He told me he knows." 

There was nothing but utter silence on Stiles' end. Ominous, ominous silence.

"He's—he's okay with it, I think?" Derek ventured. "I mean, he gave me this whole lecture about making mistakes and trusting you and then he said he'd see me at Thanksgiving, so I guess that means he won't…uh."

_Won't tell you not to see me anymore._

Derek couldn't even bring himself to say it out loud.

Stiles blew out a noisy breath, loud and a little painful in Derek's ear, and then started laughing, an unflattering hoot that he was must have been trying to muffle with his hand, which just made it sound worse.

"It's not funny!" Derek hissed. "He cornered me at Lava Java and talked to me about being a parent, and making sensible choices, and I think there was something in there that was supposed to be about safe sex, but I was too mortified to absorb it all. And you weren't even there to suffer with me!"

"That's probably exactly why he did it," Stiles snickered. "He's a cop, Derek. His psyche is a terrifying mix of benevolent father figure and manipulative interrogator. Just imagine what's waiting for me when I get home."

Derek couldn't take any comfort in that, because he hadn't even delivered the worst of the news yet. "He wants me to tell my parents," he told Stiles.

Stiles immediately stopped laughing. "Oh, fuckballs," he said.

"Yeah."

"Are you going to?" Stiles asked, sounding more worried than amused at this point. _Finally._ Derek didn't think it was fair he was doing all the worrying.

"Do I have to?" Derek asked, trying not to whine too much. Mr. Stilinski wasn't Derek's dad--technically, Derek didn't have to do what he said. "Will he tell my parents if I don't?"

Stiles hummed while he thought it through. "I don't _think_ so," he said eventually. "But he'll make it uncomfortable for both of us. Our days of hanging out at my house unsupervised will obviously be over."

"Well, crap," Derek said. That was certainly going to complicate things. 

"But even worse," Stiles continued, "He'll be disappointed. And believe me, Derek, you do not want to disappoint my dad. It's _awful_. We're talking crippling levels of guilt, like you kicked Mister Rogers in the nads or something."

"Oh, God," Derek moaned, tipping over onto his side on his bed and curling around the wadded up ball of Stiles' sweatshirt. "Okay, I'll tell them."

"Listen, don't rush into it," Stiles said. "We'll talk about it tonight, okay? Figure out the best way."

"All right," Derek said glumly.

Derek heard a voice in the background, saying Stiles' name. "I gotta go now," Stiles said, dropping his voice to barely a whisper. "We'll talk later. Don't panic."

"Too late," Derek snorted. But it helped knowing that even though Stiles was so far away he wasn't going to leave Derek to face his parents on his own, so to speak. Moral support was better than nothing.

After they hung up, Derek remembered what else Mr. Stilinski had said. _**He also said to remind you Thursday is your aunt Norma's birthday**_ , he texted.

_**Aw crap!**_ Stiles texted back a little while later. 

_**Why is that bad?**_ Derek asked. 

_**She's in an assisted living place down here. I have to pick her up and take her to Hometown Buffet for dinner. She always makes me eat her gross anise candies.** _

_**Well have fun with that**_ , Derek said. He knew Stiles hated anything that tasted remotely like black licorice.

_**Gee thanks**_ , Stiles said, then: _**Whatever happens we'll deal with it so don't worry.**_

Derek was a worrier by nature, so that was impossible, and the thought of this barely tolerable two month separation turning into a year-long forced break-up was too awful to contemplate. He buried his face in Stiles' sweatshirt and tried not to panic.

~*~

Because Derek didn't deal well with dread, he and Stiles decided Derek should tell his parents about them ASAP. 

After two phone calls spent strategizing like they were planning to invade a hostile country, they agreed Derek should talk to his dad first in hopes of working the sympathy angle; if anyone was going to relate to Derek's situation, it was Dad. Derek planned to milk that for all it was worth. 

The next day at school, Derek could barely focus on anything but the documents he'd put together in preparation for his confession. By the time he dropped Isaac off at his after-school job and drove home, his left eyelid was twitching and he was back to contemplating living in the woods.

Unfortunately, there was no electricity in the woods, and most of Derek's favorite pastimes—video games, Internet porn, robots, texting with Stiles—required electricity. Also, his mom would find him in three seconds anyway.

He took his phone out of his pocket and flicked through all the pictures of Stiles he had on it, and then reread their last conversation where Stiles had patiently reassured him one more time that everything would be fine. Derek wasn't quite as optimistic as Stiles, but there was nothing to be done. He set his phone down on his desk and went in search of Dad.

In a house with so many kids—especially little ones--it was rare to get a moment alone with a parent, but right when he needed it most the universe smiled on Derek. His dad was in the garage, all by himself, just the radio and a can of Coke keeping him company. He had a toy dump truck clamped in a vice and was frowning down at it, a bottle of glue in his hand. There were several other pieces of dump truck scattered on the workbench.

"Dad, I need to tell you something," Derek said gravely, hopping up on the chest freezer next to the workbench. He knew if he stalled he'd lose his nerve.

"I already heard you gave the babies gummi bears," Dad said. He still called the twins "the babies" and all signs indicated he was going to keep doing that until they were old enough to vote. "It's old news."

"Um, that was a few days ago. And Mom already yelled at me for it." The little sugar fiends were terrible at keeping secrets.

Dad finally looked up him. His eyes were the same color as Derek's, but he wore glasses. "Well, it can't be worse than that, whatever it is, so spill." He went back to frowning at the truck.

Derek took a deep breath. "I have a boyfriend," he said, then immediately wished his voice hadn't sounded so shaky. He'd wanted to be mature and confident about it, act like it was no big deal in hope his parents would also think it was no big deal.

"Who, Stiles?" Dad asked, completely unfazed. He picked up a piece of the truck off the bench, and applied a thin ribbon of glue to the edge. "I know."

It took a second for that to sink in, because of all the possible responses he'd prepared himself for, Derek had somehow failed to predict that one. 

"How did--did Laura tell you?" he asked, when he got his mental feet under him again. He was already transitioning from shocked to outraged, and plotting six different methods of revenge on his sister.

"Yes," Dad said dryly, setting the glue-coated piece of truck in place and clamping it down. "Laura had to tell me. Because I'm deaf, dumb, _and_ blind. And I was also never a teenaged boy."

"Right, sorry," Derek said sheepishly. "How long have you known?" He felt a little stupid, truth be told. Had he really been that obvious?

"That you liked him? From the first time you mentioned him," Dad said. So Derek _had_ been that obvious. His cheeks were starting to tingle. Ugh, he was probably turning red. "We didn't know for sure if you were in a relationship, but your mother was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt that you hadn't stolen some poor boy's sweatshirt so you could use it as a pillow."

"Oh my God," Derek groaned, horrifically embarrassed. They knew about the sweatshirt. He thought he'd been pretty discreet about it, never wore it to the dinner table or anything, mostly just in his room or in the car, but he hadn't fooled them at all. 

Now his face felt like it was about to start melting off like a Nazi in an Indiana Jones movie. He wanted to open the freezer and stick his head in it, just to cool off a little. 

Meanwhile, his dad was _smiling_. His dad was _enjoying Derek's misery_. Everything about this was so unfair.

"You could have said something," Derek told him. It would have been preferable to letting him squirm on the hook for months, trying to play it cool and thinking he was getting away with it.

Dad just shrugged. "We assumed you were reluctant to tell us because he's a boy. We didn't want to force you to talk about it until you were ready."

"Oh," Derek said, realizing he'd been looking at this from the wrong angle the entire time. 

He'd been so focused on the age difference, it hadn't occurred to him Mom and Dad might think he was being secretive for another reason. Derek's parents had given him several exhaustive and embarrassingly detailed birds and the bees talks over the years that had included reassuring him that they didn't care who—or what, because werewolves were far from the only supernatural creature around—he ended up with, they would always love him. He'd accepted that at face value, never doubted it. It had never entered his mind to worry about how they would react to him dating a guy; they'd once told him they would be okay with him dating a _harpy._ Bleh.

"And you don't care that he's older than me?" Derek asked, just to be sure. He instantly regretted bringing it up when Dad gave him an appraising look.

"Should we?" He put the glue down and gave Derek his full attention, looking a little less relaxed about the conversation than he had before. His eyebrows were in the "concerned dad" position. Uh oh. "Has he tried to get you to do anything you don't want to do?" 

"No," Derek said hurriedly. Just the opposite, really--getting into Stiles' pants had been like getting into Fort Knox. Which his dad didn't need to know.

"Has he offered you alcohol?" Dad asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the workbench. His eyebrows hadn't budged.

" _No_." Not only had he not offered, it hadn't even occurred to Derek to ask Stiles for something like that. He knew he couldn't get drunk. Which was why Derek wasn't sure why it mattered, but: "And no drugs either," he added, heading off the question he figured was coming.

"Is there another problem? Does his father not approve?" Dad asked. He said it like he might be a little offended by someone not approving of their kid dating Derek, which was kind of hilarious.

"No, no, he approves," Derek said quickly. "He knows that we—hang out. And stuff. He's okay with it if you guys are." 

"Your mother and I are fine with it, obviously," Dad said, looking mollified. "Or we would have put a stop to it months ago. Yes, he's older than you are, but we're familiar with him through Kurt, and we've met his father, who happens to be the sheriff, several times over the years. If you were going to pick an older boy to date, you probably couldn't have made a better choice."

Derek blinked in surprise. His dad had just quoted, nearly verbatim, several of the items on the outline Derek had made of his "Why I Should Be Allowed to Date Stiles Stilinski" speech. As he'd labored over it, he'd never imagined his dad would practically make the argument for him. He could barely believe his luck.

"And Kurt says he's a nice kid," Dad added, which meant he had talked to Kurt about Stiles, and Kurt had vouched for him. It was slowly dawning on Derek that his entire family had probably known everything from the very beginning. Just like Mr. Stilinski had. Derek and Stiles were a couple of idiots. 

"Um, yes, he's really nice," Derek said, when he realized his dad was waiting for some kind of response. "I really like him."

"Then that's that," Dad said, smiling. He reached behind him and grabbed an old rag off the bench, started scrubbing at what was probably a glob of glue on his hand. "How does it feel to finally have it out in the open?"

"Awesome," Derek said, being completely honest. He felt like a hundred pound boulder had suddenly rolled off his back. He didn't have to deceive his parents anymore, or worry about getting caught, and he was already picturing how much easier things would be when Stiles came home. No more pretending to be just friends. "I was kind of worried about what you would say," he admitted, underplaying it a little. He'd actually been so worried he'd had a stomachache most of the day.

"We figured," Dad said. "I want you to know that we're proud of you, and we're glad you're finally telling us, and that you've been following the rules so far. As long as that continues to be the case, we trust you to make good decisions. We want you to be a normal teenager, just like we want for all of you kids. And part of being a normal teenager is dating. Just as long as neither of you forget that _you_ are still a teenager, even if Stiles isn't. Okay?"

"Okay," Derek said. "No problem. And thanks for that extra hour. On my curfew." 

"You're welcome," Dad said. He paused, as if debating whether or not he wanted to say more, then continued, "I know it's hard right now, dating someone who's older than you are, because he doesn't have to follow the same rules, at home and in the world in general. And he's living very different experiences than you are, at least right now. College is very different from high school."

"Believe me, I know," Derek said glumly, thinking about Stiles having his own place in L.A., coming and going as he pleased, playing foosball half the night with no thought to curfew. Stiles had so much more freedom. 

Dad gave him a sympathetic smile. "I know you're frustrated, kiddo. It won't always be like that, though, and the time will go faster than you realize. I can promise you that," he said. He was always so calm, almost never raised his voice, but now it sounded even softer, maybe a little sad. "But more independence also means more responsibility, and part of moving on is leaving other things behind. Don't be in a hurry to grow up, Derek. It'll happen no matter what." 

Derek wasn't sure if it was just the words or also the way Dad said them, but suddenly his throat felt tight. He'd spent a lot of time these last few months pointlessly wishing he were older, thinking everything would just be so much easier once he turned eighteen and finished high school. 

But Dad was right—part of growing up would mean making his own life outside of this house, outside of his family, his _pack_. He loved his family, even when they annoyed him, and thinking about being apart from them made him feel a little lonely and sad, even though college was still nearly two years away. Maybe that was why Laura and Kurt came home so often. 

"I won't, Dad," Derek said. "I promise." His voice cracked embarrassingly, and he suddenly felt like hiding under his bed, like he used to do when he was little and didn't want to deal with unpleasant things, like admitting he'd broken a rule, or eating cauliflower.

Dad tossed the rag down on the workbench. "Come here," he said, opening his arms, and Derek hopped down off the freezer and went willingly into a nice long dad hug. Even with the recent growth spurt, Dad was still taller and wider than Derek, and he practically engulfed everyone he hugged, except Kurt. "You're a good kid, Derek," Dad said, rubbing his chin against the top of Derek's head. "I almost feel bad sending you off to talk to your mother next. She's planning a refresher course on condoms."

"Aw, no!" Derek whined, hiding his face in his dad's shirt as Dad laughed and squeezed him a little tighter.

~*~

"They're okay with it," Derek told Stiles over the phone as soon as he could get away and call him. He was lying on his bedroom floor, limp with relief. "They already knew, too." He left out the part about the condom talk, because he was pretending it hadn't even happened, for his own sanity. There had been a zucchini involved.

"Hrmph," Stiles said.

"You don't sound as happy about this as I thought you'd be," Derek said, confused. This was what they'd wanted, wasn't it?

"If I'd known nobody'd care, I'd have jumped your bones way sooner," Stiles said grumpily. "I wasted a lot of time feeling guilty!"

"The good news is they think you're perfect boyfriend material. They're under the impression you're a nice, responsible boy," Derek told him, grinning. They didn't know what Derek knew about the pigeons. Stiles didn't know Derek knew, either.

"I can be a nice, responsible boy!" Stiles said, a little indignantly. "I respected your curfew! I kept my hands to myself for weeks!"

"Yeah, and it sucked," Derek said. 

"See, this is my point," Stiles said. "All that wasted time!"

"Don't remind me," Derek groaned. If they'd gotten together earlier in the summer, they would have had more time to put their hands all over each other before Stiles left.

"Well," Stiles said, after a few seconds of morose silence. "At least it's all over with."

"For me, anyway," Derek pointed out. "You still have to face your dad in person when you come home for Thanksgiving."

"Arrgh," Stiles said, but in the end he didn't have to worry about it, because he didn’t come home for Thanksgiving.


	7. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Stoney for the beta! <3

**_December_ **   


**_If m and p are positive integers and (m+p)xm is even, which of the following must be true?_**  


**_(A) If m is odd, then p is odd._**  
 ** _(B) If m is odd, then p is even._**  
 ** _(C) If m is even, then p is even._**  
 ** _(D) If m is even, then p is odd._**  
 ** _(E) m must be even._**  


Derek had spent two long, torturous months clinging to the hope Thanksgiving represented, and he nearly fist-pumped with joy when he got Stiles' text on Tuesday morning, two days before Thanksgiving proper.

_**Stopping for gas and then on my way!** _

The next text came a few hours later, and it didn't make Derek happy at all. 

_**Jeep died on the side of the road :(** _

~*~

"You're just doing this so you don't have to have that talk with your dad," Derek jokingly accused, when Stiles called on Wednesday to deliver the news that he wasn't going to make it home after all. 

"Yeah, you're onto me," Stiles said glumly. 

The Jeep needed expensive repairs, and wouldn't be ready until after the holiday weekend. Stiles had looked at flying home, or taking the bus, but Stiles' dad was down with a horrible case of the shingles and not feeling up to much of anything anyway. He'd insisted that as much as he wanted to see Stiles, any money that could be spent on a plane or bus ticket was better put toward repairing the Jeep. Derek disagreed with this heartily, but it wasn't up to him.

One of Stiles' roommates was kind enough to drive up to get Stiles, who had been stranded near Bakersfield, and bring him back to L.A. That was where he was now, instead of in Beacon Hills.

It was a miserable phone call, but eventually they both laughed about it a little, which was better than crying, which was what Derek was almost tempted to do. After months of being separated, they'd come so close to seeing each other, only to lose it at the last minute.

"At least it's only a few weeks until Christmas," Stiles said, before they hung up. "I'll be there before you know it."

Still, Derek was bummed. So, so bummed.

And he was going to be lifting a lot of weights.

There was nothing to be done about it, though Derek did briefly entertain the thought of asking if he could take the Volvo to L.A. for the weekend. He wasn't dumb enough to actually approach his parents with that idea. He knew there were limits to how cool they were going to be with the whole Stiles situation, and Derek wasn't eager to run up against one so soon after coming clean about their relationship.

So the upshot was Derek suddenly found himself without any plans, and no real opportunities to make new ones. Laura and Kurt were home for the holiday, but out with their own friends a lot, and Derek had never hung out with them much anyway. Isaac and his dad were in Oregon with his grandma. Rebecca and her family were at an integrated energy healing retreat, whatever the hell that was. Everyone had something to do except Derek. _Stiles_ had been Derek's plan for the weekend.

At least there was good food to look forward to, if nothing else. Thanksgiving dinner was always a big deal in Derek's house--Dad was an expert turkey roaster, and Mom made her awesome mashed potatoes. The table was always loaded down with a lot of other delicious things, like stuffing and cornbread and sweet potato casserole, all made from old family recipes. Even the green beans were practically edible. 

The one thing neither of Derek's parents was interested in tackling was pie, but there was a bakery in town that made amazing ones, and every year they got three different kinds, in quantities enough to guarantee plenty of leftovers. There would be pie for days, until they couldn't bear to look at another piece.

So as much as it sucked that Stiles wasn't coming home, Derek woke up on Thanksgiving morning trying to look on the bright side. The bright side entailed eating awesome food until he could barely move. The house already smelled wonderful.

"You can have cold cereal, or fruit with yogurt," Mom said when Derek wandered into the kitchen. There was no cooked breakfast on Thanksgiving, as a rule. 

Violet and Henry were already in place at the table, slurping up spoonfuls of Froot Loops. Derek took a bowl out of the cupboard before he sat down at the table with the twins, because there was no way he was eating yogurt for breakfast. He wasn't the biggest fan of Froot Loops, but they were better than yogurt, which was nothing but rotten milk and should be outlawed, in Derek's opinion.

Dad and Kurt were at the kitchen sink, wrestling with the turkey, which had spent the night brining in the fridge. Making the perfect turkey was a multi-day process, according to Derek's dad. He took it very seriously.

"Everybody check the chore board," Mom said, as Audrey came shuffling in, rubbing her eyes. The lead up to the Thanksgiving meal was always a study in controlled chaos, with Derek's parents delegating stuff left and right. "And someone go wake up Laura." 

"Kurt can do it," Derek said quickly. _No one_ wanted that job. It was akin to poking a hibernating grizzly bear, and even more likely to result in getting your face ripped off.

Kurt shot Derek a dirty look. "I'm busy," he said, though he really wasn't. He was mostly just holding the brine bucket. "Audrey can go."

"I just came downstairs!" Audrey protested. 

"Send the babies," Dad suggested. "Laura's less likely to skin them alive."

"Seconded," Kurt said, while Audrey nodded in agreement. The twins, so tiny and innocent, were watching the conversation with interest, still spooning cereal into their overflowing mouths. 

Once in a while Derek thought he should be a little more worried about how casually calculating his family was sometimes. Thankfully, those moments usually passed pretty quickly.

Derek spent the rest of the morning in the TV room sort of watching the Macy's parade and sort of helping the twins—who did survive waking up Laura, as Dad had predicted--make turkey-shaped place cards for the table. It involved lots of tracing their hands, and laborious cutting with safety scissors, and attaching real feathers from various local birds that they'd collected in the woods all year long for this project. Derek's main contribution was writing everyone's names on the turkeys and keeping the glue out of Violet's hair.

He and Stiles texted each other throughout the day, which was a poor replacement for an actual visit, but better than nothing at all. Stiles and his roommate were going out for dinner, to a place that advertised turducken. Stiles was a lot more enthused about it than Derek probably would have been.

For Derek, Thanksgiving dinner was enjoyable, if noisy, which was par for the course in his family. It was a nice distraction, though, and Derek had almost momentarily forgotten about his bum luck when Kurt mentioned he and his girlfriend and another couple were going to a movie later, a movie Stiles and Derek had planned to see over the weekend, too.

"You and Stiles wanna come with us?" Kurt asked, which was an astounding offer. Kurt had always had a strict "no tag alongs" policy when it came to his younger siblings. Apparently that didn't apply when one of those siblings was dating someone Kurt knew.

"He's not here," Derek said, picking sadly at his sweet potatoes. "He couldn't come home this weekend." He explained about the Jeep and about Mr. Stilinski's shingles. His parents and Laura all made sympathetic noises at him.

"I’m sorry, honey," Mom said. "It'll be Christmas before you know it, though. Henry, stop licking the butter knife."

"Bummer," Kurt said, grimacing. "You can still come, if you want." That was an even more astounding offer, and Derek was grateful for it, but the thought of being the fifth wheel did not appeal at all. Kurt didn't look surprised when Derek declined.

After dinner, Derek was dispatched to the Stilinski house with an enormous container of leftovers for Stiles' dad, who came to the door looking haggard and not very sheriff-like in droopy sweatpants and an old Journey T-shirt.

"My mom sent this. Stiles said it was okay," Derek said, when he handed the container over. "My dad made the turkey. He put extra in there for sandwiches."

"Tell them I said thank you," Mr. Stilinski said, wincing in pain as he shifted the leftovers into his other hand. "And thank you, too, Derek. I know you boys are disappointed Stiles didn't make it home, but it'll be Christmas before you know it."

"I know," Derek said, though he was kind of tired of hearing that. It hadn't helped when Stiles said, it hadn't helped when Mom said it, and it didn't help now when Mr. Stilinski said it. 

By the time Derek got back home, there was a new text from Stiles, updating him on his evening. He and his roommate had gone to a movie—the same movie Derek and Stiles had planned to see together. The same one Derek could have gone to see with Kurt and his friends. There was no sugarcoating it: that made Derek feel like crap.

Derek wasn't jealous of Stiles' roommate in a romantic sense at all, but he was jealous that she was getting to spend time with him, do the stuff Derek wanted to do with Stiles. And then posting about it on Facebook and tagging Stiles in it, so Derek was forced to see it. Derek scowled as he scrolled past the grainy cellphone picture of a ticket stub and a box of Hot Tamales, and mutinously didn't click the like button. 

When Stiles called Derek that night he was a little drunk, having just come from the dive bar down the street from his house. Derek hadn't even known bars were open on Thanksgiving. Derek's dad sometimes stopped for a beer after work with his friends, but the idea of his father going out drinking on Thanksgiving was unfathomable. Only over Mom's dead body, probably. Or, more likely, Dad's.

It sounded like there were other people in Stiles' house, voices and laughter coming through over the connection, and twice someone came in the room and interrupted, asking Stiles if he was ready to go. Stiles was obviously going out again when he was done talking to Derek, while Derek sat at home, lonely and miserable. 

"I'm gonna go," Stiles finally said, after the third interruption, and Derek reluctantly ended the call

When Stiles texted him the next morning about some funny stuff that had happened the night before, Derek wasn't amused. He tried to reply with some level of enthusiasm, but it just wasn't there. Now that the big holiday thing was over, he had three aimless days stretching ahead of him, and nothing much to look forward to--he didn't even have any music students, except the twins. That was when it really hit home how much the whole thing sucked. That was when he really started to hate it.

~*~

The Friday after Thanksgiving was traditionally Christmas decorating day for the Hale household, and Derek spent most of it crawling around on the roof with his dad and Laura, hanging Christmas lights, while Mom and Kurt and the younger kids took care of the inside of the house—Kurt was deathly afraid of heights. 

Derek didn't mind being up high, except for always having to be on the lookout for Laura, who liked to push him off the roof into the prickly hedges under the living room windows. On the other hand, climbing around up there was the one physical feat Derek excelled at that Kurt didn't, and that never got old. When Kurt came out into the yard with the twins, who were dying to see the big plastic Santa strapped to the chimney, Derek did a backflip off the garage, just to rub it in. 

Despite how busy he was all day, when Stiles called him that night, Derek didn't have much news. He'd done nothing much but hang lights and eat. Kurt and Laura had both taken off with their friends as soon as the decorating was done, and Derek had been flat-out envious. 

Stiles, on the other hand, had gone to a pool party, where he'd met someone who gave him free tickets to a basketball game next week. Now Derek was envious of Stiles, too. 

"How's the printer coming along?" Stiles asked, when Derek's account of his day petered out right after "hung Christmas decorations." Derek and Isaac were already on Mark III of their printer and it was better than ever, but Derek wasn't feeling very enthusiastic about it.

"It's fine," he said, sticking his finger through a hole in the toe of his sock. "I printed a whistle shaped like a dalek the other day." 

"Cool," Stiles said, and then there was a prolonged silence when Derek didn't provide any further details. 

"Well. I guess I should get going," Stiles said eventually. "Let you sleep." 

"Okay. Good night," Derek said listlessly. He didn't feel like talking, but he didn't want to hang up, either, so it didn't really matter which one they did. Nothing made him feel better. 

In fact, every time he heard from Stiles lately, it only made him feel worse, which was a brand new feeling for him.

~*~

Saturday was a disaster. 

Laura took off in the Volvo before Derek even got out of bed, leaving him carless for the umpteenth time. He didn't actually have any plans, but it still ticked him off that she'd stranded him in the house _again._ He had his bike, and one of his parents would probably give him a ride if he had anywhere he wanted to go, but that wasn't the point. The point was he'd gotten used to having the car to himself. He'd gotten used to freedom, and options. Now he felt like a little kid again, dependent on his mom for a ride. 

Stiles was working a shift he'd picked up from a co-worker who had come down with food poisoning, Rebecca was still at the retreat, and Isaac's dad must have confiscated his phone again, because he wasn't replying to Derek at all. Boyd and Erica both chatted with him a bit when he texted, but they were spending the day together, which only reminded Derek of his own pathetic situation, so that didn't help lift his spirits any.

On Saturday mornings Derek's dad usually made French toast and bacon, but today it was oatmeal, because Kurt had used up all the bread and bacon making BLTs after bar close the night before. Derek hated oatmeal with a passion; there wasn't enough brown sugar and maple syrup _in the world_ to make it tolerable.

Derek grumped his way through breakfast, blew off Dad's attempts to interest him in working out, and argued with his mother over whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher. By that point both of his parents were aggravated with him, but Derek's downward slide was unstoppable. He topped off the morning by losing his temper with the twins during their piano lesson, which escalated into an ugly row, and by the time his mom intervened everyone was in tears, including Derek. 

The twins got five minutes in time out, but Derek got a whole hour, which he had to spend sitting at the kitchen table by himself, his phone confiscated until he improved his attitude.

Fat chance of that happening.

Shortly after his hour was up, Mom and Dad left for a movie with Audrey and the twins. 

"I suppose you don't want to go," Mom said, in a tone that implied it would be just fine if Derek kept his grumpy butt home, so he didn't feel bad about opting to do just that.

After they left, he went out into the Preserve and threw rocks at a tree stump for a while, then spent most of the afternoon in the basement lifting weights and doing pull-ups until his arms trembled. None of those things changed his circumstances any, but they improved his mood enough that he was able to behave himself through dinner and get his phone back.

Not that it mattered. When he checked it, there was nothing from Stiles, not even one lousy text message, which sent Derek's mood plummeting right back into Eeyore territory all over again.

_**Must have been pretty busy today**_ , he sent finally, when another hour went by with no word. 

It took over half an hour for Stiles to reply. _**Haha sort of. Work was super dead. We played golf with a yardstick and balls of paper. Going for dollar margaritas now.**_

When he read that, Derek didn't even know why he'd been so anxious to get his phone back. He tossed it on his desk and dug out his soldering kit. Might as well use all his _spare time_ to do something productive, he thought irritably.

Stiles called later than usual that night, so late Derek had given up hope he'd hear from him and was grouchy because of it. Stiles, on the other hand, was in good spirits, courtesy of dollar margaritas, and kept saying stupid stuff, making jokes, trying to get Derek to lighten up, which made him retreat even further into monosyllabism. 

After a few minutes, Derek figured out that Stiles was calling him while he was waiting for someone to come and pick him up, just like he had the other night. He was going out _again._

"Don't let me keep you," Derek said, feeling bitter, and hung up before Stiles even said goodbye.

A text came through from Stiles almost immediately: _**Why are you being such a dick??**_

_**I'm not being a dick**_ , Derek replied, even though that was a pretty fair call.

_**Yes you are**_. When Derek didn't answer right away, another message popped up: _**Are you mad at me?**_

Derek was, he realized. He was mad at Stiles for not coming home, even though it wasn't his fault at all. And even more than that, he was really, _really_ mad at Stiles for having so much fun while Derek sat home and pined for him like a giant loser. It wasn't fair to Stiles, but it was true.

That all seemed like a lot to say via text, and before he could even start Stiles sent, _**I told you why I couldn't come. This sucks for me too.**_

_**Yeah it sounds like you're miserable**_ , Derek sent back. Going to movies and parties, hanging out with his friends. Sounded terrible. It was like it didn't even matter to Stiles that they weren't together like they'd planned. He was happy either way.

Stiles was ominously silent. For one hour, then two. Derek finally went to bed. Before he fell asleep, he checked Stiles' Facebook page, but there was nothing new.

He tossed and turned all night, kept waking up to check his phone, dreamt once that he heard the text tone, but when he sat up and groped for it, there was nothing there. In the morning he felt like hammered shit, foggy-headed and tired in addition to still being cranky.

Sunday's breakfast was the French toast they should have had Saturday, but Derek wasn't very hungry. There were no phones or other electronic devices allowed at the table, so he spent the whole time fidgeting, pushing his food around his plate, wondering if he was missing something, but of course he was not. When he finally made it back up to his room, there was nothing at all from Stiles, and his phone was terrifyingly quiet for the rest of the morning.

~*~

After lunch, he finally caved and sent Stiles a text, hoping it wasn't too late and he hadn't ruined everything: _**I'm sorry**_.

He put on Stiles' sweatshirt and lay down while he waited for a response, heart racing almost painfully fast, but long minutes ticked by and none came. Derek had no idea what to do next. Stiles was his first official relationship, and the little flirtations he'd had before this had never lasted long enough to even _have_ a fight. He didn't have a single clue how this worked.

A quick check of Stiles' Facebook showed Derek nothing but a handful of tagged pictures from a party last night, including several of Stiles wearing a pair of plastic New Year's Eve glasses from 2006. Shortly after Derek told his parents about Stiles, Stiles had edited his profile to show he was in a relationship with Derek, and that was still the case, so hopefully that was a good sign. Derek didn't bother to save any of the party pictures. He had better ones on his phone already.

He waited some more, mostly because he couldn't summon the ambition to do anything else, until eventually he dozed off, his crappy night's sleep catching up to him. He woke up to Henry's face just inches from his, chin propped on the edge of Derek's bed. He had a telltale orange stain around his mouth that indicated he'd gotten into Kurt's energy drinks again. Violet was next to him, cheek resting on her folded hands as she stared at him.

"What's up, guys?" Derek asked, blinking blearily, trying to get his bearings. His phone was still in his hand; Stiles hadn't replied to his text. When Derek checked the time, he realized the twins had probably been sent upstairs to nap. Dad wouldn't be far behind, coming to tuck them in and read them a story.

"You smell sad," Henry said. Violet nodded and wrinkled her nose. 

"I am a little sad," Derek said. "But I'll be okay. I’m sorry I yelled at you." He'd been feeling increasingly guilty about it ever since he'd done it, which only added to the shitshow that was this whole godforsaken weekend.

Henry nodded, giving off an air of benevolence as he accepted Derek's apology on behalf of himself and Violet. "Sorry we were impotent," he said solemnly.

Derek almost bit his tongue in half trying not to laugh. " _Impertinent_ ," he corrected, when he could say it with a straight face. That must have come from Mom when she gave them the time out.

"You need blankie time?" Violet asked. "You can share mine." She dropped out of sight and then popped back up clutching her favorite blanket, the pale yellow one she slept with every night. 

"Mine, too," Henry volunteered. He held up a fistful of his own blanket, a green version of Violet's. They'd definitely been sent up here to nap. "You need a blanket for blankie time." He cast a dismissive look at Derek's comforter, which evidently didn't meet his standards.

Blankie time was a kinder, gentler version of time out. Derek's parents used it to give the younger kids a chance to be alone and calm down if they were feeling overwhelmed or temperamental, which happened easily to little ones with enhanced senses and werewolf instincts. It wasn't a punishment--it was more of a chance to regroup. Derek had grown out of blankie time years ago, but it was sweet that Violet and Henry were trying to help him by offering up the solution they were familiar with.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea, but let's go in your room," Derek said, pushing himself up to sitting. He could get them settled and then resume sulking once they were asleep. He took off Stiles' sweatshirt and left it on his bed, with his phone on top of it.

They all climbed into Henry's bed, though that necessitated relocating about twenty stuffed animals, mostly elephants—Henry had a bit of an obsession. Finally they were all settled in, Derek clinging to the outer edge of the mattress while the twins shared the only pillow. Violet had a naked baby doll, and Henry had his five favorite elephants he absolutely could not sleep without. It was a tight squeeze.

When Dad finally came up the stairs and stuck his head in, the twins were droopy-eyed and Derek was mid-way through _The Poky Little Puppy._ Dad leaned against the doorway and waited until Derek was done and the twins were dead to the world, then he smiled at Derek and said, "Looks like I've been replaced." 

"Vi thought I needed blankie time," Derek explained, carefully easing out from under the corner of yellow blanket Violet had graciously allowed him to use. He shoved the book back into the shelf next to the bed. 

"Huh," Dad said. "Wish I'd thought of that. Did it work?"

"A little," Derek admitted.

~*~

Blankie time could only help so much, though, and Derek was anxious by nature, which didn't help. By the time he made his way back to his room after dinner he was unable to bear it any longer. He sent a second, more plaintive text: _**Please talk to me.**_

He set his phone on his desk and stared at it for God knew how long, but it stayed silent. Finally, he got up to get his clarinet—maybe to play it, maybe to stab himself in the face with it--and that was when the phone finally rang. He scrambled for it, and nearly sat down on the spot when the screen said it was Stiles. Hopefully not calling to break up with Derek over the phone.

"Just so we're clear, you were out of line," Stiles said when Derek answered.

"I know," Derek said miserably. "Are you gonna break up with me now?"

"Um, _no_ ," Stiles said. He sounded surprised by the question. "We had a fight. People have fights. What you did is not a dumpable offense."

"Okay," Derek said. He closed his eyes and flopped backward onto his bed. He felt like crying from relief, but he had at least one tiny shred of dignity left and managed to keep his composure.

"I was kind of a dick, too," Stiles admitted. "And I'm sorry for not responding to your apology earlier. I shouldn't have let you stew, but I was pissed."

"I guess I deserved it," Derek admitted. His behavior this whole weekend had been kind of rotten, and everyone around him had suffered, even the twins. "But you were doing all that stuff and it kinda felt like you were rubbing it in my face." 

"Oh. I didn't think of it like that," Stiles said, sounding genuinely contrite. "I'm used to telling you everything I do. I didn't think about it bothering you."

"I tried not to let it, but I'm just so--I really, really wanted to see you," Derek said. "This sucks." Ever since the 2am phone call a few weeks back Derek had been making an effort to not complain about the separation too much, but he had to be honest.

"I really wanted to see you, too," Stiles said. His voice sounded a little raw. "I know I'm down here doing lots of fun stuff, but I'd rather be up there, believe me. I’m making the best of it, but it's not what I'd choose. I didn't get to see you or my dad or Scott, and I missed out on leftover pie for breakfast."

"We had leftover pie for dessert tonight," Derek said. He hadn't eaten any, which seemed a bit like a wasted opportunity now.

"See? Now I'm jealous," Stiles said. "And, um, I'm sorry I didn't think—I didn't realize how it would make you feel, hearing about what I was doing all weekend. But I swear, Derek, I'd rather be there. It's nice having stuff to do so I'm not sitting here moping, but I keep thinking I'd rather be there instead."

"Okay," Derek said, feeling a little better, and also a little embarrassed by his dramatics. He didn’t want Stiles to think he was a stupid moody teenager but that was exactly what he'd been for the last two days. Way to act mature.

"I guess the only reasonable conclusion is that we're both dicks," Stiles said, after a moment. "We can't break up. No one else would want us."

"I think you're right," Derek agreed, and they both laughed, and everything seemed okay again. 

"So that was our first fight," Stiles said before they hung up. "Another milestone."

"I'm not sure I like this milestone," Derek said. He was sort of dying to know what the other milestones were—Stiles had never mentioned any before. First kiss, probably. First…other things. There were still a lot of those left.

Stiles' mind must have been in the same place. "And you know what the worst part is? We can't even have make-up sex," he said, sounding forlorn.

~*~

The first two weeks of December were interminable. 

For Stiles it was the lead up to exam week, followed by actual exam week, and he was exhausted and harried and didn't have a lot of time to talk or text. Derek tried to leave him alone, or just send simple texts and encouragements that didn't require a reply. Stiles still called him some nights, but the conversations were short and Stiles was usually either tired or distracted. It was almost better when he didn't call, but Derek didn't tell him that.

Derek got his PSAT score, and it was probably good enough to qualify him to compete for the National Merit Scholarship, which was a victory. Even if he didn't end up getting the scholarship, it was a nice addition to his college applications. He wouldn't get officially notified for a few months yet, but based on previous years, he was in. 

Stiles had his last exam on a Friday morning. When Derek got out of gym class later that day, there was a text from Stiles on his phone, along with a picture of the Jeep, packed with a jumble of books and clothes and sports equipment. _**On my way! :)**_ it said.

Still wary from Thanksgiving, Derek wasn't going to let himself relax until Stiles was actually inside the Beacon Hills city limits. _**I've got everything crossed**_ , he texted back.

Beacon Hills High was having their winter concert that night, and since Derek was in the band, he had to be there for the whole thing. It was already after 10pm by the time he finished up and got out of the auditorium. When he finally dug his silenced phone out of his pocket there were three messages from Stiles that said, in chronological order:

_**Made it!**_

_**Getting something to eat with my dad**_

_**Crashing. Sorry. Hope the concert was good.**_

Derek hadn't been holding out a lot of hope that he'd get to see Stiles that night, what with the concert and everything, but it was still a disappointment they wouldn't even be able to talk after so many weeks of barely being in contact at all. He knew, though, that Stiles had been really tired before he even started the long drive home, and he had to be exhausted. In the scheme of things it wasn't that big a deal, Derek reminded himself. Stiles was going to be home for three whole weeks.

He had just finished giving the twins their piano lesson the next morning when he got a text from Stiles.

_**Dad went to the shooting range. Wanna come over?**_

He grabbed the keys to the Volvo and practically sprinted out the door.

~*~

"Holy _shit_ ," Stiles said, when he opened his front door and saw Derek. "Are you on steroids?"

"No," Derek said, suddenly feeling bashful. Between the weightlifting and the growth spurt, he'd had to replace a lot of his clothes since Stiles left, but he hadn't thought the change was that dramatic. Stiles' mouth was hanging open and his eyes kept darting back and forth from Derek's shoulders to his thighs. "I've been lifting weights a little." The tips of his ears felt like they were bright red. If he didn't get inside soon they were probably going to start steaming in the chilly air.

"A _little?_ " Stiles boggled, and then finally realized he should step back and let Derek into the house. Derek gratefully stepped inside.

"Yeah," Derek said, anxious to get his hands on Stiles, to smell him up close, put his mouth on him. As the door closed behind them he grabbed Stiles by the waist and pulled him in for a hug. "I had a lot of energy to burn off."

"You still got a lot of energy?" Stiles asked, fingers stealing up into Derek's hair. He sounded like he was grinning.

"A _lot_ ," Derek said fervently, and went for Stiles' mouth.

Eventually they made it up the stairs, though it took a while. 

"I missed you," Stiles murmured against his mouth as Derek backed him up against his bedroom door and kissed him again. "Oh my God, I think you're taller, too."

He actually was, Derek realized, when he broke the kiss and pulled back enough to look. They were eye to eye now.

It had only been a couple months and they'd talked almost every day, but it really did seem like things had changed. Derek _felt_ older, and his new body fit differently against Stiles'. Stiles looked a little different, too. His hair was longer than it had been over the summer, and he looked thinner, little hollows under his cheekbones. He smelled the same, though, and tasted the same. God, he tasted so good. As Derek stroked his tongue against Stiles', inhaled the comforting scent of him, he missed him even more fiercely for a moment, even ached a little with how hard it had been to be apart, and then it all dissolved under the rush of relief at having him here again.

Derek couldn't bear to take his mouth away so he kept kissing Stiles as he shrugged out of his jacket and tumbled him down onto the bed. He had plans, very detailed plans. He'd been watching a lot of porn while Stiles was gone. Lifting weights only helped so much.

But Stiles also had plans, apparently. "Take off your shirt," he urged, rolling them so he was on top, shoving his hands under Derek's T-shirt and pushing until Derek tugged it over his head and tossed it aside. "Goddamn," Stiles said appreciatively as he sat up and took a look. His butt pressed down on Derek's dick, and Derek had to suppress a whimper.

Stiles didn't seem to notice. He was busy smoothing his hands up over Derek's chest, then back down to his stomach, fingers lingering over all the new muscles there.

"Stability ball planks," Derek choked out, feeling flustered under Stiles' frank attention, and a little dazed from having him here in person again, _sitting on his dick._ It was a lot to take in all at once.

He levered himself up, intending to kiss him some more, and Stiles' eyes practically bugged out of his head as he stared at Derek's stomach. "Holy fuck, how does that even work? Do that again," he demanded, pushing Derek flat again with both hands. "Oh my God, I'm going to pass out," Stiles breathed, when Derek contracted his abs and pulled himself back up to sitting.

Derek grabbed Stiles' hips and held on. "If you're nice to me, I'll do a whole set of crunches for you later," he said in Stiles' ear. This was new to him, being marveled at and wanted, and it made him feel powerful and a little playful.

"Nnnngh," Stiles said, dropping his head to Derek's shoulder as his hand drifted down between them and pressed lightly against Derek's dick through his jeans. He was already fully hard. "Can I suck you? I don't want to rush you, but I really really—" He took a shuddery breath. "If you're not ready that's okay."

"I've been ready for months," Derek said, mouthing Stiles' neck. Then he thought about his plan and said, "Can I do you first? Would that be okay?"

"God, yes," Stiles said immediately, straightening back up. There was a splotch of pink over each of his cheekbones. "You haven’t ever, right?"

"No," Derek said. It made him feel a little self-conscious to admit it, but Stiles already knew he didn't have much experience at anything. He was probably just double-checking. "But I really want to try it." 

Stiles grinned down at him, then rolled off of Derek and onto his feet, tugging Derek to stand next to the bed, too. "Clothes off, all of them," he said gleefully, as he peeled his own shirts off. There was a mad scramble as they stripped, and Derek ended up hopping around on one leg trying to get his left sock off and not take his eyes off Stiles at the same time. 

Derek had never seen him totally naked before and he couldn't tear his eyes away. Stiles' body was long and narrow except for the surprisingly wide breadth of his shoulders, pale in a way that made the blood-red arrow of his dick and the bitten-red slash of his mouth look even darker. Derek wanted to _eat him alive._

Eventually Derek just gave up on the sock and grabbed at Stiles, sucking in a breath when all that naked skin met naked skin. Stiles tipped himself backward onto the bed, taking Derek with him, and they kissed sloppily as Derek rolled his hips down, shuddering at the feel of their dicks rubbing together. Stiles squeezed Derek's hips with his knees and let Derek kiss his neck, nibble on his ears, all the while making pleased little sounds and rocking his hips to keep that delicious friction between them going.

Stiles tasted so good, all of him, his mouth, his skin; Derek couldn't wait to suck him. He slithered down Stiles' body, kissing his belly, biting at the line of hair that dove down between his legs. His chin dragged against Stiles' hard cock, making him twitch, as Derek slid down to the floor next to the bed. Stiles' chest was heaving, his hands fluttering from Derek's head to the blankets and back again like he couldn't settle on where to put them. Derek grabbed Stiles under his knees and tugged him so he was closer to the edge, Derek kneeling between his open thighs.

"Okay, not wasting any time. I like that," Stiles said shakily, lifting his head to look at Derek before letting it thud back onto the bed.

"We've already wasted way too much time," Derek said firmly as he eased his hands up over the tops of Stiles' thighs and just....looked. The hair around Stiles' dick was short, like he trimmed it, and his dick was straining over his flat belly, practically begging to be touched. It looked bigger than Derek remembered, though maybe that was because he intended to put it in his mouth this time. 

He slowly slid his hands upward until his fingers met the crease of Stiles' hips, his thumbs sinking inward to brush lightly against his balls. The muscles in Stiles' thighs were jumping under Derek's hands.

"Oh my God, do something," Stiles whined, shifting restlessly like he was searching for Derek's touch. Then he instantly shot up onto his elbows, eyes wide, and said, very seriously, "Unless you don't want to. Don't do anything you don't want to do. It's okay to be nervous. Not everyone likes doing it."

"I'm fine," Derek said, rubbing his fingers soothingly against Stiles' hipbones. "Stop worrying about me." He _was_ a little nervous, but he wasn't fearful at all that he wouldn't like doing it. His main fear was that it wouldn't be good for Stiles, because Derek didn't know what he was doing, had only seen it in videos on the Internet. It was a lot of pressure, though he was sure Stiles would be polite about it even if Derek was terrible.

"Okay," Stiles said, nodding, and gave him an encouraging, if slightly distracted, smile. His eyes kept flicking down to Derek's hands, still not quite touching his dick.

Derek could take a hint. 

Stiles' cock jumped when Derek finally closed his hand around it, and his hips tilted up off the bed an inch or two. He was hot to the touch, and felt good in Derek's hand when he slowly pumped up and down. On the third stroke, Stiles' head fell back between his shoulders, and he breathed out a quiet, "Oh, yeah."

Encouraged, Derek lifted himself up a little higher on his knees, planting his other hand on the bed next to Stiles' hip as he continued to stroke him, watching the way Stiles' cock slipped through his fist. Derek was definitely ready to do more. His mouth was watering.

For a second he let his baser instincts take the lead and nosed his way up the shaft, enjoying the heat pouring off Stiles' body, the way he smelled. The head of Stiles' cock was shiny and wet, and Derek took it in his mouth, still clutching the base with his hand. The taste of Stiles spread across Derek's tongue, salty, and his own dick surged between his legs. 

"Oh God, that's so good," Stiles said in a gravelly voice. "Just like that. God, Derek."

When Derek looked up at him, still holding him in his mouth, Stiles had lifted his head so he could watch, and his eyes were heavy-lidded. So far so good, Derek thought, and lowered his head, taking more, then held still for a second, getting used to the feel of Stiles on the back of his tongue, before he pulled back up. He sucked gently, then tried working his tongue against the underside of the head. Stiles made a punched-out sound and his knee juddered against Derek's side, so Derek did it all again, finding his own rhythm, breathing through his nose as he went down, came up, moved his tongue, over and over again. 

Stiles talked a lot at first, encouraging him, reminding him that he could stop at any time, but Derek was way past that point already. He didn't need to be coaxed along. He already knew that he liked it, and as soon as he'd put his mouth on Stiles he knew he was going to want to do it again and again and again. He liked how Stiles' felt, the weight and girth of him pressing against his tongue.

There was something kind of zen about it, like Derek got into a zone, and the feel of Stiles filling his mouth over and over, all the different ridges and curves of him, felt good. The whole thing was easier than he'd thought, and Stiles seemed to be loving it, his fingers dancing across Derek's shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

"I'm close," Stiles panted after a few minutes, and that was when Derek faltered, unsure. 

"It's okay, you don't have to," Stiles said right away, using his hand under Derek's chin to ease him off. Derek let him, but kept his grip on his cock. "You don't ever have to swallow, if you don't want to."

Derek looked up at Stiles. His eyes looked a little unfocused, and his heart was pounding like crazy. He had to be _really_ close. Derek's own dick throbbed in sympathy.

"Like this, just do this," Stiles said tightly, closing his hand over Derek's, guiding it up and down. His eyes drifted shut and he caught his lower lip in his teeth, groaning softly. "I'm so close."

Derek watched Stiles' wet dick slide through his fist a few times, then took a deep breath and ducked his head again, closing his mouth around the head and sucking as he kept moving his hand. Stiles' whole body jerked and he made a pained sound as his fingers pulled at Derek's hair. That was all the warning Derek got before Stiles was coming in Derek's mouth, clutching his head and saying, "Oh, God. Oh, _my God_."

In the end, Derek did swallow, because that seemed the quickest way to get it out of his mouth. He'd tasted his own of course, and never wanted to do it again, but that had just been licking his finger. A whole mouthful was way worse.

Stiles was still trying to catch his breath above him when Derek pulled off and swallowed a few more times in quick succession, feeling his whole face screw up in disgust.

"It's an acquired taste," Stiles laughed breathlessly when he saw. He reached for the bottle of water next to his bed. 

While Derek drank, Stiles scooted back, and then drew Derek up onto the bed when he was done with the water. He looked a little flushed and a lot happy. Derek felt himself puff up with pride.

"Your turn," Stiles said, smirking, urging Derek down onto his back. The empty water bottle rolled off the bed and onto the floor. Stiles wanted to squirm between Derek's spread legs, and Derek certainly didn't mind—whatever Stiles wanted was fine with him. He was too new at this to have many preferences. While Stiles was getting settled between his bent knees, Derek finally managed to get rid of his left sock.

Stiles wasn't hesitant like Derek had been, just went for it, sinking his mouth all the way down on Derek's cock in one go, sucking greedily, moaning a little while Derek stared wild-eyed at the ceiling and tried to remember how to breathe. Stiles' mouth was so soft and slick inside, not like anything Derek had felt around his dick before, and his tongue kept moving, teasing at the head, circling, whenever he came back up. 

Derek's hand found Stiles' hair and he clutched at it, trying to remind himself to be careful, not be rude, but Stiles seemed to like having his hair tugged. He made a happy noise and started bobbing his head up and down a little faster, cupping Derek's balls with his palm.

Derek couldn't have said, later, how long it went on, the hot suction, and the swirling tongue. He was dizzy with sensation, distantly aware he was making helpless sounds. And then, suddenly, horrifyingly, Derek felt the familiar hot prickle behind his eyes that meant they were about to flash, and he slung his forearm over his face, squeezing his eyes shut. He hadn't had any problems controlling his shift since puberty—a notoriously rocky time for werewolves—and had never worried about losing control while he was messing around with Stiles, but this was overwhelming him. 

He made a frustrated sound as he fought for control, and Stiles' fingers stroked his hip and he made a little humming noise back, like he was soothing him. Even if Stiles didn't understand what exactly what happening, it helped, and Derek felt the urge to shift slowly recede as he focused on the sound of Stiles' heartbeat, much steadier than Derek's was at this point.

He kept his face hidden for a little longer, but he was dying to see, and wanted to enjoy watching Stiles blow him, so when it felt safe he lifted his head and opened his eyes. He needn't have worried, because Stiles wasn't looking at him anyway, had his eyes closed over his hollowed cheeks, a blissful look on his face as his worked his mouth up and down Derek's length.

The sight was more than enough to push Derek right over the edge. "Stiles—" he gritted out, flailing a hand onto Stiles' shoulder and giving it a shove. Instead of lifting off, Stiles moved faster, sucked harder, he was going to let Derek come in his mouth, _holy fucking shit—_

Derek's hips lifted off the bed with the first pulse, and Stiles bore down on him, pressed him back into the sheets as he swallowed, and the only sound that came out of Derek's mouth was a thin little whine. He was so deep, and he could feel Stiles swallowing, he could feel himself throbbing hard against the back of his throat.

After the last few spasms faded away and Stiles swallowed one more time, he let Derek go, gently easing him out of his mouth, which Derek appreciated, because he felt like he was going to fall apart. 

"Oh my God," Derek said faintly. He couldn't feel his hands. That had been _amazing._ Blowjobs were amazing. _Stiles_ was amazing.

Stiles was grinning when he wiggled his way up to lay half on top of Derek. His face was still flushed, and his hair was damp and messy, and he looked so good Derek had to cup his face in his hands and kiss him, deep. Stiles' mouth was relaxed and lazy now, and layered with a new, sharper tang Derek recognized as himself. Even better, Stiles let out a rough moan when Derek dipped deeper inside, rubbing his thumb against the corner of his mouth.

It was a while before Derek broke the kiss, but Stiles indulged him, happy to go along with whatever Derek wanted. When Derek finally had his fill and fell back onto the pillow, Stiles beamed at him, and said, "Pretty good, right?"

"Yeah," Derek said. His voice came out surprisingly hoarse, but probably more from feeling a little overwhelmed than anything else. He hadn't taken Stiles that deep. Yet. "I think we should do that again. As soon as possible."

Stiles glanced down his own body. He was half-hard again already. "I can be persuaded," he said, and Derek set to persuading him as thoroughly as he knew how.

~*~

"Seriously, I can't believe you," Stiles said later, eyeing Derek while he was pulling his shirt back on. Mr. Stilinski was gonna be home soon. "This is, like, some magical Disney transformation shit. Everyone is going to be so pissed at me for locking this down." 

He sounded really happy about it.

~*~

Derek had another week of school left before he was on break, too, but everyone, including the teachers, was just kind of coasting toward the finish line and he didn't have much homework, except from Mr. Harris, who was widely regarded as a total dick both as a person and a teacher, so that wasn't a surprise.

Once he was cut loose for the break, Derek had a lot of free time—most parents didn't want to deal with music lessons on top of the usual holiday scramble, and Kurt and Laura were both back home again to help with sibling wrangling. Stiles wasn't working at the library much, since he was only home for a few weeks. He took a few shifts here and there, covering for people who wanted extra time off over the holidays, but for the most part he was just as aimless as Derek. It couldn't have worked out better, in Derek's opinion.

They spent a lot of time at the Stilinski house, where Derek got in a lot of blowjob practice.

"It doesn't matter—oh my God—if you can take it all," Stiles panted, fingers digging into Derek's shoulders. "You don't have to—holy shit, _Derek._ "

Derek didn't even dignify that with an answer. He knew it didn't matter how much of Stiles' dick he could fit in his mouth. He wanted to try, though; he'd always been an overachiever. He worked his way down until his eyes watered, trying for a little more each time, while Stiles gradually slid into incoherence above him.

He managed to keep his gag reflex in check until the end, when the first hot splash in the back of his throat made him lift his head a little before he choked, until just the head was in his mouth. Stiles was clutching the blankets in his fists and had his eyes squeezed shut and was too busy coming like a freight train to notice.

"I think you might be an oral sex prodigy," Stiles said weakly, while Derek was chugging some water. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to the taste, but he'd learned swallowing quickly helped a lot. "You're outpacing me already."

Derek didn't know how many other people Stiles had been with, only that there were probably several, and probably both boys and girls. It felt good to be able to wow him a little. It was doing wonders for Derek's confidence. He grinned bashfully and squeezed Stiles' knee.

"C'mere," Stiles said, patting his belly. "I want you to come on me." 

Derek didn't need to be asked twice to do _that_. He was already starting to ache a little from being so hard for so long, and the idea that Stiles wanted that, and was so blithely open about it, made him even more eager. He straddled Stiles' stomach while Stiles busied himself squirting a bunch of lube into his hand, biting at his bottom lip in anticipation. The first touch made Derek hiss though his teeth, the lube icy cold on his hot skin, but Stiles picked up a quick rhythm right away that heated everything up fast.

Derek had never used anything to jerk off before, just spit, or soap in the shower, and now he realized he'd been missing out. It was so slippery and so wet, and so easy to fuck into Stiles' clenched fist. He leaned back and braced himself on Stiles' thighs, breath already starting to come in harsh pants as he snapped his hips forward and back. It was going to be over pretty fast, and he didn’t even care.

Stiles' other hand stole down to clutch at Derek's ass, urging him on. The sound of what they were doing was obscene, the wet slap of skin on skin, the creaking bed, Derek's increasingly fast breaths. The muscles in Stiles' arm flexed as he worked, the big vein that ran up over his biceps starting to stand out with the exertion. 

"I really want—you can—do you want to fuck me sometime? I really want you to," Stiles stammered. He looked like he couldn't tear his eyes away from where his hand was furiously stroking Derek's cock.

"Yes," Derek gasped, losing his rhythm a little at the thought, but Stiles' hand was there on his hip to guide him, keep him going. "Holy shit yes."

"God, I love your dick," Stiles said fervently. "I want it in me. I want it—"

That was it, Derek was done for, the tight glide of Stiles' hand combined with the words coming out of his mouth were just too much to handle. He tipped forward as he came, hunching over Stiles' still moving hand as he muffled his moans in Stiles' sweaty neck. Stiles worked him carefully through it, telling him _yes, this is perfect, come all over me, yes, like that._

Derek would have gladly fucked Stiles right then, as soon as he was able, but there wasn’t enough time--Mr. Stilinski would be home soon. They cuddled for a bit, bellies sticking together where they were wet, and then as soon as Derek was able to get his feet under him they cleaned up and were sitting innocently on the couch when Stiles' dad walked through the door. If he ever noticed that the shower had always just been used before he got home, he never mentioned it.

"You boys have plans tonight?" he asked, when he came into the living room.

"You're lookin' at 'em," Stiles said, eyes on the TV. Derek was concentrating on it, too. He'd always found it difficult to look Mr. Stilinski in the eye right after they'd been messing around, and it was even worse now that he knew Stiles' dad knew they were a couple. He would never again underestimate what Mr. Stilinski could suss out with his combined cop/dad superpowers.

"How you feel about tacos? You fly, I buy." Mr. Stilinski was already getting his wallet out, so he obviously knew what the answer was going to be.

"Deal," Stiles said, and clicked off the TV.

~*~

It was already the third day of Derek's winter break when it occurred to him that not only had they not hung out with Stiles' friends at all, Stiles hadn't even mentioned them, or spent any time with them that Derek was aware of. With the exception of a few hours divided between the froyo place and the comic book store with Isaac, it had just been the two of them every day. ( _Every single day._ It was awesome.) 

"We can do something with Scott and everyone, if you want," Derek offered hesitantly while they were finishing up their cheeseburgers at Stiles' favorite greasy spoon. He didn't know how to say it so it sounded like he was willing to go, but wasn't forcing Stiles to take him along.

"They went to Cancun," Stiles said, cramming a French fry in his cheek. "They'll be back after New Year's. You gonna eat your pickle?"

It was probably a selfish thing to be happy about, that he would have Stiles all to himself until then, but Derek couldn't help it. He handed his pickle over, and slurped up the rest of his root beer float.

It wasn't until they were snuggled together on the Stilinski couch that Derek put all the pieces together. If Scott and Allison went, and Lydia and Jackson went, then Stiles must have been invited. And Stiles probably would have gone, under normal circumstances. And probably taken whomever he was dating at the time, if the person he was dating wasn't a high school kid who had almost no chance of getting permission to go. So little chance Stiles hadn't even bothered to bring it up.

"Did you want to go to Cancun with everyone else?" Derek asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. Even if Stiles lied to spare Derek's feelings, Derek would know.

"Nah," Stiles said absently, running his fingers through the hair on the back of Derek's head. He was glued to an episode of _My Strange Addiction._ "Too expensive. And this is better."

His heart was steady as a metronome. Derek smiled and fed him another Twizzler.

~*~

Derek was trying to figure out if a particular bra was his mom's or Laura's—it was probably Laura's, bought at school, because he'd never seen it before—when his mom came into the laundry room and surprised the hell out of him.

She set two new bottles of laundry detergent down on the shelf and then, like it was no big deal, turned around and casually asked, "Derek, do you want to invite Stiles and his father over for Christmas Eve?" 

Derek couldn't believe his ears. "I think so?" he guessed, trying to adjust to the idea of having Stiles and his dad here for a family holiday. Invited by his parents, even. It seemed so…official. His parents had said they were fine with their relationship, but this was a whole other level of acceptance entirely. This was _real._

Christmas morning was traditionally immediate family only, but Christmas Eve was open to other people. Kurt's girlfriend, Ariana, was coming this year, driving up from Sacramento, and Laura's boyfriend would be there for a little bit, too. Audrey's best friend since kindergarten usually came over a while, too, with her parents. The twins were too little to have any friends outside the family yet. 

Derek had never had anyone over before. He could have invited Rebecca when she still lived here, but her family was all hippy Jewish atheists, and they always went away on a meditation retreat or fasted for three days or ran a hundred mile relay race or something else incompatible with the Hale family Christmas. Isaac and his dad went to Oregon. Having Stiles over, and maybe his dad, too, would be a big deal for Derek.

"My dad's going to come for an hour or two," Stiles said later, when they talked about it on the phone. "Apparently the sheriff of Beacon Hills is a sought-after party guest. He's got a dinner invite, plus another party to go to. I think one of them is from a woman who has designs on his virtue."

"Scandalous," Derek said.

"It sure is," Stiles agreed.

~*~

It wasn't very cold on Christmas Eve, but Dad insisted on having a fire in the fireplace. They had to open a window so everyone wouldn't broil, which seemed silly, but parents couldn't always be reasoned with, so Derek didn't try.

Stiles and his father arrived at the same time but in separate cars, bearing presents and a platter of deviled eggs. Derek's family had a serious deviled egg addiction, which he'd mentioned to Stiles _once_ months ago, and here he was, smirking as he proffered the plate. Suddenly, Derek was reminded that Stiles was the pigeon prank mastermind.

Henry was momentarily awed into shy silence by the presence of the actual sheriff in their house, staring up at Stiles' dad mutely and looking like he was fighting the urge to stick his thumb in his mouth. Violet, on the other hand, marched right up to Mr. Stilinski. 

"Did you bring your gun?" she asked, too loudly. She looked completely adorable, if a little bloodthirsty, in her Christmas dress. Derek had never been that cute as a kid. They had the pictures to prove it

Mr. Stilinski squatted down to eye level with her, and threw an exaggerated look over his shoulder at nothing before turning back to Vi. "Why?" he asked in a hushed voice. "You see a criminal?"

"Hi," Stiles said, squeezing Derek's arm and distracting him from whatever Violet said next. Mr. Stilinski looked like he could handle it. Stiles was wearing a blue argyle cardigan and looked very handsome. Derek kissed him, quick, on the mouth.

"Yuck! Kissing!" Henry said, suddenly having found his voice at the most inconvenient time. He was dressed up in a button down shirt and a Christmas tie that matched Violet's dress. His hair, which had about sixteen cowlicks in it and normally stuck up all over his head, was parted on the side and slicked down with gel. He looked like a miniature accountant.

Derek's parents came out of the dining room with Audrey, who had declared herself in charge of folding the cloth napkins into some elaborate shape. 

"Derek's boyfriend is here and they kissed!" Violet announced, just in case anyone in a two mile radius didn't already know. Derek slapped his hand over his face, but Stiles just laughed.

Derek introduced everyone, nearly stumbling over it in nervousness. Derek's parents shook hands with Mr. Stilinski, who immediately ingratiated himself to Derek's dad by telling him how delicious his Thanksgiving turkey had been. Then Dad shook hands with Stiles, and Mom gave him a friendly smile combined with an assessing look, and Stiles would probably never know just how thoroughly, and with how many senses, he was being appraised. 

"It's nice to meet you, Stiles. We've heard so much about you," she said, making Derek want to die of embarrassment. 

Kurt wandered downstairs to greet Stiles and then the sheriff, and didn't seem embarrassed at all to be spending Christmas Eve with the guy who had once arrested him, but that was typical Kurt. He never seemed to feel self-conscious about anything. Stiles' dad didn't seem weirded out by it either, but in a town the size of Beacon Hills he probably spent all day running into people he'd caught breaking the law.

Derek's dad asked Stiles' dad if he wanted a drink, which seemed to be the cue for all the parents to disappear into the kitchen. Derek ushered Stiles into the living room, where Laura was obsessing over the Christmas music, like she did every year. Kurt wandered in behind them and they all grabbed a seat. 

Kurt and Stiles were already friendly, and Laura remembered Stiles from the few years they'd overlapped at high school, so they hung out in the living room and did a quick catch up on teachers and classmates they all knew—who was retired, who was dead, who was married, who had moved to Alaska and become a fisherman poet. 

Derek didn't know a lot of those people, but he couldn't really focus on the conversation anyway. Even with his exceptional hearing, he couldn't catch every word being said in the kitchen, but he'd already heard enough to know the parents were talking about Stiles and Derek. It was rude to eavesdrop, but Derek couldn't make himself stop. This was vital information, he reasoned, since it was about him.

Stiles' dad brought up the age difference first, maybe trying to get it out of the way so the adults could enjoy their evening without worrying about that particular elephant in the room. 

"I've had a talk with Stiles about the age difference," he said, and Derek glanced over at Stiles, who was still reminiscing with Kurt and Laura, oblivious. Stiles hadn't said a word about any talk, and Derek had been so happily distracted since Stiles' return that he'd completely forgotten there was supposed to be one. "He understands he has a responsibility to Derek to respect any limits, both Derek's and yours."

Oh, God. That was totally a reference to sex in there, Derek knew it. He felt a blush slowly crawl up his face. _So. Embarrassing._

Derek's dad rumbled some kind of acknowledgement, but someone rattled a pan so loudly Derek missed what was said, and he tuned back into the conversation to hear his mom say, "We weren't sure how you felt, to be honest, or if you even knew. The age gap isn't an issue for us, as long as they both understand the difference between seventeen and twenty-one. But technically Derek is still a minor, and with you being the sheriff…well, we didn't know if it would be a problem for you."

Mr. Stilinski snorted. "If I arrested every college kid in this town who dated someone who was still technically a minor, we'd have to build a new jail," he said. "As long as it's not predatory or unhealthy, a few years at their age isn't automatically a bad thing."

"The local taxpayers would appreciate that, I'm sure," Dad said, laughing. "And we agree. Talia and I were actually in a similar situation ourselves when we were in college. We've made it clear to Derek that he and Stiles have to respect the rules, and so far it's not been a problem. Derek's always been good about that, from the time he was little."

So even his own parents thought he was a Goody Two Shoes, Derek thought. It worked to his advantage, but _still._ Ugh.

"I'll be honest," Stiles' dad said, sounding wryly amused, "Stiles had some trouble with that when he was Derek's age, but he seems to be intent on following the straight and narrow now, with regards to Derek. But if you start to get uncomfortable, you call me. Anytime."

"Absolutely," Mom said. "You do the same."

Derek heard the sound of ice cubes clinking into glasses, and then something being poured—Dad had probably busted out the good whiskey, after the compliment on his turkey.

"Well, it's nice to be able to talk to you about it, now that the secret's out," Mom said. Derek could practically see the air quotes around the word "secret."

"I don't know who they thought they were fooling," Mr. Stilinski said, and everyone laughed and Derek wanted to thump his head against the arm of the couch.

After that they started talking about boring stuff, like the proposed repaving of Wabash Avenue. Sure that the conversation was now suitably boring, Derek turned his attention back to his own age group just in time for Kurt's girlfriend Ariana to arrive. She was still taking off her coat when Roric, Laura's boyfriend, showed up with a bag of homemade popcorn balls, which sent the twins into spasms of delight. 

While everyone was still meeting each other in the foyer, Audrey's friend Nicole arrived with her parents, who owned a sandwich shop in town and innocently divulged that they knew Mr. Stilinski very well; he was evidently a devoted customer. Derek saw Stiles' eyes narrow—he had a lot of rules about what his dad should and shouldn't eat—but Mom sidetracked the whole thing by choosing that moment to bring out the food.

Derek's family didn't have an actual dinner on Christmas Eve--that was saved for Christmas Day. Instead, they spent the night munching on hors d'oeuvres and cookies. Even without a sit down meal, there was always more than enough food, and this year was no exception. The dining room table was positively loaded with things like Swedish meatballs, stuffed mushrooms, crab cakes, and a big dish of hot artichoke dip. Ariana had brought pigs in a blanket, and there were three different cheese balls for some reason. Predictably, Derek's family fell on the platter of deviled eggs like they'd been denied food for a week. By the time everyone had filled their plates, the entire platter was gone. Derek was pretty sure he saw Henry shove two in his mouth at once. 

"Sneaky," Derek said, when he sat down next to Stiles on the floor by the Christmas tree. Derek's parents had a firm rule that in the event of an overflowing crowd, adults got to sit on the furniture. "Lowering their defenses with deviled eggs. They'll have to like you now."

Stiles grinned triumphantly at Derek and then bit into the one he'd managed to snag for himself.

They did the gift exchanges while the ate, since Mr. Stilinski had to leave. Derek's family gave Mr. Stilinski a bottle of booze. Derek gave him some nice cushy socks. Mr. Stilinski gave Derek an SAT prep book, and Derek's parents a bottle of the same booze they'd given him, which cracked everyone up. Derek didn't really pay attention to the rest of the gifts—there was _artichoke dip._

Before Derek knew it, Mr. Stilinski was saying goodbye to everyone—he even gave Derek a hug—before he headed off to his next holiday function.

"You know," Derek said to Stiles, as they stood in the foyer watching their dads shake hands and make plans to grab a beer sometime, "Your dad has a busier social life than either of us."

"I know," Stiles said. "I try not to think about what he's up to when I'm at school, because otherwise I would need to bleach my brain." He made a scrunched up yucky face that was eerily reminiscent of Violet, then schooled it into something more normal as his dad gave him a final wave before breezing out the door. "Hey, you want your present?"

Stiles had already told Derek he wanted to exchange gifts in private. "How private?" Derek had asked, nervous. What if Stiles had gotten him a sex toy or some handcuffs or something for Christmas? They hadn't even discussed that stuff yet! Nevertheless, Derek had cleared it with his mom, who would hopefully run interference if anyone else got curious about them disappearing for a few minutes.

While everyone was busy making another pass at the food table, Derek led Stiles into the TV room, which had a small ceramic Christmas tree on a table in the corner. It had little colored bulbs that lit up, and played "Oh Tannenbaum" when you wound it. It seemed like a nice place to exchange their presents, so they sat down on the floor in front of it.

Stiles insisted on opening his gift from Derek first. It was a little robot Derek had built himself, with blinky lights and everything. Even better, it plugged into Stiles' laptop via USB port, and danced in time to whatever song was playing on the computer. Derek knew Stiles liked to listen to music while he studied.

"You built this? For me?" Stiles said in amazement, after Derek explained what it did. He skimmed a fingertip up and down its arm. "That's so cool. I can't wait to see him shake his booty." He kissed Derek on the cheek. "Thank you," he said softly, still staring at it.

Derek let him marvel at it for a few seconds more before he got impatient. He was dying to know what his present was. It was something that had to be opened when they were alone, but all Stiles had brought into the TV room with him was an envelope.

It had a Christmas card inside, and in the card was a single sheet of paper, a fare quote printed from a website, for a round trip airline ticket to Los Angeles. The prices were blacked out with magic marker, but the schedule was there, the days and times. 

Derek stared at it, speechless. 

"I didn’t buy it yet," Stiles said hurriedly. He linked his fingers together and hooked both of his hands across the back of his neck. He was nervous, Derek realized. "But I thought—if your parents says it's okay—you could—if you wanted to, I mean. Visit. For the weekend. I'll pay for the ticket." 

"You want me to visit you at school?" The two of them together in Stiles' house for the whole weekend, no parents to answer to at all. It sounded wonderful. Derek had no idea if his parents were going to allow him to do this, but just the fact that Stiles wanted it was nearly enough to keep Derek happy. 

"Yeah. I do," Stiles said. "I don't wanna go so long between visits again, you know?" 

Derek nodded in full agreement as he studied the numbers more closely. "In February," he said, when it sunk in. Stiles assumed they'd still be together two months from now—this was monumental to Derek. 

"I go home after the New Year, and then spring break is in March, so I thought that was a good time," Stiles explained. "It's right in between." 

That was true, Derek thought, looking down at the paper again. But. He quirked an eyebrow at Stiles. "Over Valentine's Day?"

"That's a coincidence," Stiles said, lopsided grin breaking across his adorable face. Derek didn't believe that for a second. "Anyway, I thought this was a better way to spend the money than going to Cancun. I thought this might be nice."

Derek forgot how to talk for a moment as the implication of what Stiles had just said sank in—Stiles had not only opted to come back to Beacon Hills for Christmas to see Derek, he'd had the money to go but was choosing to spend it on Derek instead.

"It's better than nice," Derek said, and kissed him. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me until your parents say yes," Stiles said, laughing.

~*~

By the time the night started winding down, Derek had decided he couldn't have hoped for it to go any better. It wasn't really awkward at all, and everyone got along, and no one pulled out any embarrassing pictures of Derek's groundbreaking portrayal of a honeybee in his first grade play.

And Derek's parents loved Stiles. _Loved_ him. Derek could tell just by looking at his dad's eyebrows that Stiles had been deemed acceptable, which was a relief, but it was his mom he'd worried about the most. She wasn't just his mother, she was Derek's _alpha._ But she definitely liked him, too. And the little kids were so impressed with Stiles that after a bit Derek had to actually compete with them for his attention. Unsuccessfully.

It started with Henry wanting to show Stiles his new Batman toy, which Stiles admired so convincingly that Henry soon retrieved one of the stickers that had come in the package and ostentatiously placed it on the front of Stiles' sweater. Not wanting to be left out, Violet scampered upstairs and then reappeared with one of her stretchy plastic bracelets. 

"For me? Awesome, thanks!" Stiles said happily, taking it from her as she gazed up at him adoringly. He carefully eased the bracelet over his hand and onto his wrist--it was stretchy, yes, but it was made for a little kid, and Stiles had big hands. It was a little tight on his wrist, but didn't appear to be in danger of snapping. 

Stiles shoved the sleeve of his cardigan up, and then rolled up the cuff of his button down shirt so the bracelet was in plain view, seemingly unbothered by the fact that it was pink and made from beads shaped like butterflies. Derek felt like his heart was going to explode.

"You wanna play bunnies?" Violet asked, when Stiles had admired the bracelet to her satisfaction. Her eyes were huge and hopeful, like big blue sparkly buttons, and if Stiles was anything like Derek, it was going to be hard to say no to her. This was not going to end well.

"What's bunnies?" Stiles asked, giving Derek a quizzical look. 

"We're the wolves and you're the bunny," Henry piped up. His hair had already started to defy the gel, his tie was loosened crookedly, and one of his shirt tails was hanging out. Now he looked like a drunken accountant. "We hunt you." 

"Rowr!" both twins said in unison, making little claw hands, which was the closest they could get to actual claws at their age.

"It's a game they're not allowed to play in the house," Derek explained quickly. Things were skirting a little too close to family secret territory for his comfort.

Stiles stared at Derek for moment, then his gaze turned knowing and he looked back at the twins. "Does Derek play bunnies with you?" he asked, the jerkface. His eyes were practically twinkling with glee.

"Derek is the _best_ bunny," Violet divulged, heedless of Derek's reputation and dignity. 

"Oh, really?" Stiles asked, dragging out the _really_ way longer than necessary. "And what does that entail?"

"Mostly sitting in one place waiting to be found," Derek told him. "I play a lot of Candy Crush."

"Huh. I think I'd rather be a wolf," Stiles decided. "Sounds more exciting."

" _You_ can't be a wolf," Henry said, visibly scandalized. 

Stiles immediately adopted a look of outrage. "Why not?" he demanded.

"You're just a _boy_ ," Violet said witheringly. Henry nodded silently along in agreement.

"Ouch," Stiles said. He looked at Derek, grimacing comically. "No chance of getting a big ego around this house, is there?"

"No, not really," Derek admitted. "It doesn't matter, anyway," he said to the twins. "Because you can't play bunnies in the house and Mom'll never let you play outside in the dark and in your nice clothes."

"If I can pretend to be a bunny, why can't I pretend to be a wolf?" Stiles asked, hunkering down so he was face-to-face with the twins.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Derek said nervously, because the twins were looking disturbingly intrigued by the idea. 

"You could be a wolf, I guess," Violet allowed. "We could pretend this is your territory and we want it."

"No. Bad idea," Derek said immediately, but Stiles said, "That sounds awesome." He tipped his head back to grin up at Derek, unintentionally baring his throat, and Derek said, "Oh, crap," because Henry had that familiar gleam in his eye, and Stiles didn't understand what he was doing.

"Henry, no!" Derek said, but it was too late. With a ferocious little snarl, Henry threw himself at Stiles, who fell onto his back with a surprised "Oof!" as he was tackled to the floor. Before Derek could stop him, Henry did a comically huge imitation of a fang-bearing face, lunged forward, and chomped down on Stiles' neck. 

He was too little to have actual fangs yet, thank God, but that didn't stop him from gnawing wetly on Stiles' throat, his tiny growl muffled but still plainly audible to Derek—and to the other werewolves, too. Kurt came skidding into the room, Laura hot on his heels. Mom was sure to appear any second. 

Meanwhile, Stiles laughed and tried to pry Henry off, completely unaware of what was really happening. He just thought Henry was a weird little kid.

"Henry Hale, that is enough!" Derek said, sounding disturbingly like his mother as he bent to pluck his little brother off of his boyfriend. 

Before Derek got could do anything but grab a handful of Henry's nice Christmas shirt, Henry sat up, still astride Stiles' belly, threw his chubby arms in the air, and screeched, "I'm the alpha now!"

~*~

Once everyone settled down from the spectacle of Henry pretending to rip Stiles' throat out with his teeth—Stiles thought it was hysterical, but Derek knew Henry was going to get a stern talking to at some point in the near future—it was time to gather around the Christmas tree and eat cookies and drink hot chocolate.

There was a tussle over who got to share the couch with Stiles, because Stiles only had two sides, but three people—Henry, Violet, and Derek—who wanted to sit next to him. In the end, Stiles sat between Violet and Derek, while Derek held Henry securely on his lap. Derek didn't trust Henry not to bite Stiles again.

It was a Hale family tradition that every Christmas Eve someone read _The Night Before Christmas_ out loud, and this year it was Audrey's turn. She sat on the love seat between Mom and Dad and read aloud in her soft, lilting voice. The twins, just now old enough to really understand the story, were rapt. Kurt and Ariana leaned against a pile of cushions near the fireplace, while Laura and Roric shared the other couch. 

Halfway through the story, Violet crawled across Stiles' legs and joined Henry. Derek's lap wasn't quite big enough, but he was used to it. 

Just about the time Audrey got to the part where Santa started filling the stockings, Stiles hand stole over to Derek's and folded around it. The fire crackled, and Kurt passed the cookie plate around again, and Derek was content, with all the people he loved most in the world, together in one room, warm and safe and happy.


End file.
